Body of Work
by TheSaintsMistress
Summary: B is a gossip columnist.E is an arrogant NY socialite.When E is admitted into rehab,B will stop at nothing to get her story.On her mission,B will reveal things about E that will make her doubt her intentions,as more than the truth is uncovered.
1. Prologue

**Hallo all!**

**Boy, it's soooo good to be back! I simply cannot wait to reconnect with all of you!**

**A huge thank you to adt216 and painjane for taking this new journey with me—even after I had them working like slaves on T&CA. I appreciate you two so much!**

**I have a pre-reader, cheerleader and loyal friend this time around. Thank you, JustPeachy00 for all your insightful words, advice and for just being a really great friend and fan. You make me smile. The title of this fic was also her wonderful idea...she's just amazing!**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.**

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**Summary: Bella Swan is a beautiful, spunky gossip columnist. Edward Cullen is an arrogant, hot New York socialite. When Edward is admitted into rehab, Bella will stop at nothing to get her story. On her journey to get the scoop, she will reveal things about Edward that makes her question her own intentions, as more than the truth gets uncovered.**

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**-Prologue-**

"Good morning, James."

"Ah, Miss Swan. A good morning indeed."

"Here you go. Black, no sugar." I place the coffee on the slick granite surface and push it towards him.

"You're too good to me." He takes the offering with a wide grin.

"You're worth it, my friend." I wink and sidestep his desk. "Don't know how you can drink it that way."

"I need to check the cholesterol, or the wife will kill me herself." He chuckles.

It's the same routine every morning. I leave my apartment at exactly seven o'clock, stop at the Starbucks a few blocks from my office to pick up James's coffee, walk into the thirty-story building where _Dawn Edition_, my employer, is situated; present James, the balding, middle-aged security guard at the front desk with his coffee, before making my way to the elevator.

The greeting is always the same—the chitchat predictable.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

"Give Miss Vicky my love," I call over my shoulder once I've swiped my security clearance card.

"Always do," he replies with a kind wave.

Smiling brightly, I step into the elevator, watching the doors close smoothly. I catch my reflection in the stainless steel cage, humming along to the bubblegum music filtering through the speakers. I straighten out the collar of my crisp, white shirt before smoothing down my skirt with confident palms.

Most people hate Mondays. I...love them. In the tabloid world, every Monday is like Christmas. It's the day after the weekend. In other words, the day after all the fun happened. And with 'fun', I mean the kind where one or the other celebrity got shit faced and hooked up with an old flame, smoked up and assaulted the paparazzi or got pulled over for a DUI.

Thank you, Miss Lindsay Lohan for paying the bills.

I feel a shiver of anticipation run through me. Today is different, I don't know why, but I can feel it.

The office is buzzing by the time I enter the floor. Everyone is scurrying around, phoning their sources, verifying their leads and causing a cacophony of voices and energy in the open space setup.

I smile, because shit, I really love Mondays.

"Hey, Swan! Think quick!" I raise my hands just in time to catch a small box, the contents of which shakes and clangs loudly.

"What is it?" I call over to Yorkie without slowing my pace.

"Maybelline sent it." He shrugs. "Probably a 'thank you' for running that long-assed ad for them."

"Cool," I mumble, tossing the box on my desk before throwing my handbag down next to it. We always get little gift bags or trinkets from our various clients. It's a perk of the job—one of many.

I have a ton of work to do today. One of my sources called last night, giving me the break I've been waiting for on a story I've been working to crack for weeks.

"That's a crock of shit!" I start when I hear my boss's voice booming from his office, causing a quick lull in the conversations around me. "Don't come back in here until you've got something better!"

"Asshole," Tyler mumbles as he storms past me. I stare after him with a curious smirk, wondering what the hell the poor guy did wrong this time.

"Swan!" _Oh crap_. My smirk evaporates.

I turn my neck stiffly, peaking over my shoulder into his office. He looks dishevelled and tired, making him look older than thirty-one.

"Yes?" I ask tentatively. I'm in no mood to get scolded like my poor colleague. I have shit to do, without having to brood over one of his renowned mood swings all day.

"Get in here." He waves a hand in annoyance. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and take a deep breath instead. Tyler turns to give me a sympathetic smile from his cubicle. I grin back, shrug and make my way towards the Temple Of Doom.

"Close the door behind you," he commands gruffly, rubbing his fingers over his temples.

"Well, good morning to you too, Jasper." I smile sweetly once I've closed the door and taken a seat across from him.

He chuckles and raises his head from his hands, casting me a reluctant smile.

"Morning, my pet," he drawls with a lazy wink.

Yes, I am teacher's pet. Jasper adores me and I respect him.

I suffer the brunt of his bad moods more than most, but we understand each other. He lets me do my thing, without interfering too much, and I bring him the stories every time. We have trust. In this industry, it's hard to come by, and therefore, we both work at not screwing it up.

"What crawled up your ass?" I tilt my head to the side, reaching for his mug to take a sip from his tea.

"You mean, what Crowley'd up my ass?" he corrects me with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to find his Zen.

"What did he do this time?" I've known Tyler Crowley since he started working here, almost two years ago. When that boy hits the money shot, he hits it good. But then he fucks up, he fucks up extraordinarily. It makes him unreliable, and therefore, at times, Jasper's worst enemy.

"Don't ask." Jasper shakes his head, falling back against his chair.

I snicker and take another drink from his mug.

"You buy James coffee every morning. Why don't you get your own tea while you're at it?" he asks with a sigh, indicating that he's barely tolerating my forwardness.

"I like yours better." I shrug, pushing the mug back towards him, but not before having a final taste.

He smiles. I smile.

After a long pause, he finally speaks. "I've got some news that's going to make that innocent, little heart of yours leap through you chest."

"Innocent? Really?" I snort-laugh at his ridiculous comment. "I haven't been innocent in a very long time, my friend."

"Oh, I'll always remember you as the small town virgin that walked into this office in a pair of jeans and a hoody." He chuckles.

"I had to grow up sometime." He nods and then steeples his fingers beneath his chin as I cross my legs, my knee bouncing restlessly. "So? What's the news then?"

He grins widely, knowing that I'm always far too eager to get the dirt. Whatever he's holding back is something big, and I feel the earlier anticipation build in my chest.

"Edward Cullen was admitted into rehab on Friday."

His words fill the empty silence of his office, fill my ears with buzzing blood and fill my chest with exhilaration.

"I'm sorry." I swallow thickly. "Do you mind repeating that, please? Because I'm almost sure you just said that Edward_-fuck-me-please-_Cullen was admitted into rehab." My voice is slowly rising in pitch as my excitement matches it stride for stride.

He nods, mouth twisted up into a satisfied smirk, eyes burning realization into mine.

"Holy shit," I breathe slowly as I blink in shock and awe.

Not because I pine after the spoilt, arrogant, sexy hellion of the Upper East Side, although I would be lying if I said I wasn't affected by his good looks—me and half of New York's population, including the grandmas—but because Edward Cullen sells magazines. By that, I don't mean that he literally sells them. I mean that whenever a story about him is published, it flies off the shelves within hours. He is the proverbial golden goose of the gossip magazine industry. And of course, as these things go, the hardest socialite to get dirt on.

Now, don't get me wrong, there is a lot of dirt on that boy, but none we're ever able to get our hands on. Daddy Cullen, better known as Carlisle Cullen—New York property tycoon—pays a lot of people a lot of money to keep his children out of the papers.

"Who's your source?" I ask once I've collected my thoughts, feeling my knee bounce restlessly.

"Can't tell." Jasper shrugs. Of course not. We don't share our sources, anonymity is our greatest ally.

"Do we have someone on the inside?" My mind is racing a mile a minute. I'm already running through my list, thinking of people who might confirm the rumour.

"Nope." I frown at his answer.

"We don't have anyone inside?" He shakes his head. "How the hell are we going to find out what he's in for then?"

"That's the tricky part." His careful answer sets me on edge. What the hell is going on here?

"Where is he?"

"He's with Volturi."

"Oh shit," I sigh. The Volturi family is known for running an exclusive rehabilitation facility in Antigua. They're the best in the industry, not only because they deliver results, but because they're almost more tight fisted when it comes to anonymity than we are.

"We've already tried to hack into their system, but it's impenetrable," Jasper explains, running his hands through his golden locks. If you ever passed him on the street, you would never guess his occupation. Cowboy looking men with golden skin, sparkling blue eyes and lazy smiles aren't usually associated with gossip magazines. It's a weapon I've seen him use to his advantage on more than one occasion. We all have our little arsenal of gifts to fool our unsuspecting victims.

"So we break the news of his rehabilitation stint, and that's it?" I find it hard to believe that Jasper would call me into his office for only that.

"No, of course not." He chuckles humourlessly. "Don't you think that once we break the story, Carlisle Cullen will lock down on this shit like it's Fort Knox? We'll never get anything on the Cullens again."

"We never get anything on the Cullens as it is, anyway," I grumble in frustration.

"That's exactly why we can't waste this opportunity. We need to make the most of this story. Get all we can while it's there for the taking." The tone of his voice grows in authority and excitement and for a moment, I feel like I'm in boot camp, being prepped for war.

"We need to do something we've never done before..." He lets his sentence trail off, and finally I know that we've reached the reason why I'm sitting here.

"What did you have in mind?" I ask suspiciously, my knee dancing at a renewed beat.

"We need to go in."

"Go in where?" I'm as confused as puke in a tumble dryer.

"Into the beehive, baby." His grin makes me feel uneasy. I just know I'm not going to like this. "Into Volturi."

I blink a couple of times, open and close my mouth a few times more, before I finally find my voice.

"Into rehab?"

He nods, smiling brightly.

"Please tell me you're not suggesting that I book myself into Volturi for this story."

"It's not a suggestion."

My world comes to a screeching halt. The noise outside his office dims down to a low humming, filling my ears like water.

"What?" I shriek. "I'm not booking into fucking rehab, Jasper. Are you crazy?" I feel I might hyperventilate, my breathing leaving my chest in desperate huffs as my muscles strain to flee.

"It's a done deal, Swan. I need you to do this. There's no one else." His voice transforms into boss mode, and I can tell there's no room for argument.

I ignore it.

"No, no, no." I shake my head desperately. "I'm a journalist, Jasper. Not an actor. How the hell am I going to pull this off? I can't fake an addiction!"

"You're a tabloid journalist, Bella," Jasper deadpans with a roll of his eyes, causing me to set my mouth in a grim line. "You lie and deceive people every day to get your stories. This will be a walk in the park for you."

I stare at him dumbfounded before hunching back in my chair with a resigned slump. I hate that he's right. This is what I do. I'm good at it too, and he knows it.

We're silent as I stare at him sullenly. He sips from his mug, his chuffed smile impossible to miss and even more impossible not to hate. I can tell by the resolve in his eyes that this is happening, whether I like it or not.

I contemplate the meaning of it. I can understand that Jasper would want all the dirt on the Cullens he can get his hands on. Shit, I want it too. We've waited for this break for what seems forever, or at least for the last five years I've been working here. His trust in me is the only reason he's sending me out there, and although I should feel flattered that he's entrusting me with such a responsibility, I'm momentarily annoyed with the fact that there's no one else good enough.

"How the hell am I supposed to get the dirt from Cullen?" I voice my concerns. "Surely, a man would be best for the job. You know, befriend him, talk about women and sex like men do." Given Edward's less than exemplary reputation with the opposite sex, I hardly believe that he'll spill any personal details with the likes of me. He has no respect for women, why would he ever trust one enough to share his most private thoughts with.

"You're going to have to dig up the girl you were when you started working for me." He shrugs.

"That girl is long gone." I laugh cynically. Sure, she's still there in my insecure moments, but those have become few and far between. New York and the tabloid industry have stripped her of her innocence, her naivety, her clumsiness. After a while, once you've seen and done the things I have, acting blasé and sassy easily replaces blushing and gushing. I'm still an optimist, in most things. At least that's something this town hasn't managed to take from me yet.

"I've seen you work the wide eyed innocent look with bashful smiles and twirling hair on more than one occasion to get what you want." Jasper chuckles.

I grumble my annoyance lowly.

"I know you can do this, Bella." His voice is soft and reassuring, and I can't help but respond to it with a reluctant smile. He knows how to manipulate emotions so well. It's like a gift.

"When do I leave?" I ask with a resigned sigh.

"Tomorrow." I swallow at his answer.

"I presume I'm already admitted?" I don't give him a chance to respond, already knowing the answer to my question. "What's my alias?"

He smiles brightly. I can see the dollar signs dance behind his irises.

"You're booked in under Bella Dwyer."

"Dwyer? What in hell kind of a surname is that?"

"My old baseball coach's surname."

"How creative," I snort.

"Comes with the territory," he shoots back without pause. "You're from Forks, Washington."

"At least that part is true," I grin sardonically. "Why do I get to keep my name?"

"I don't want you to get confused. You're going to have to play a part and giving you a different name might make you slip."

"Fair enough." I shrug. "What's my vice?"

"Alcohol." He nods, raising an eyebrow to match mine.

"Are you trying to tell me something, Jasper?"

"Not at all, Miss Swan." His smile is sickeningly sweet. "I just thought with your...vast...knowledge of wine and such, that it would be an easier role to fill." I don't miss the meaning behind his pause.

"I don't have a drinking problem," I defend sourly.

"No," he shakes his head with a laugh. "You don't. But—" he pauses, leaning back in his chair, "you know nothing about the harder stuff, either."

"True." I nod my assent. I never dabbled in drugs before, and I certainly don't plan on doing it now.

"What time do I leave?"

"Your flight is at eight tomorrow morning." Jasper reaches into one of his desk drawers and pulls out an envelope, before tossing it towards me. "It's all in there. Your plane ticket, your new identity, a credit card for when you book in, the works."

"How presumptuous." I smile flatly, taking the envelope in both hands.

"I know you, Bella." He laughs. "You want this just as much as I do." Damn him for being right, and damn me for having no moral compass.

"How long will I be there?"

"The program is for six weeks, but—" he raises a hand to stop me from blurting my objections, "you can leave as soon as we have enough."

My panic deflates minutely as I sigh a breath of relief.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Get whatever you can from him. You'll know once you have what we need."

I nod, staring at the envelope in my hands. I can hardly believe I'm doing this. One part of me wants to cower away in a corner, the other—more dominant part—wants to storm into this head first, kick asses and take names. I can't really tell if my nerves are eating away at me because I'm going to have to convince a bunch of veterans that I have a drinking problem, or if it's because I'm going to have to get closer to the elusive Edward Cullen, but either way, I feel myself gearing to go.

"I want you to be cautious around Edward Cullen, Bella." Jasper's warning cuts through my internal thoughts.

"Excuse me?" I frown in confusion.

"You know his reputation with women, Bella." He eyes me wearily. "Apart from the fact that he's a playboy and a notorious man-whore, he's also manipulative and clever and fucking powerful. If you're not careful, he'll be playing you instead of the other way around."

"Why are you telling me this, Jasper?" I laugh sardonically. "You're the one that chose me. Shouldn't you have worried about his possible advances earlier?"

"I did think about it." He pulls his mouth into a hard line. "I know you're the strongest I've got, but that doesn't mean I don't worry anyway."

"I can handle him, Jasper." I huff indignantly. If there's one thing I'm not, it's a blabbering, swooning princess, which is exactly the type of girl Edward_-I'm-too-pretty-to-give-a-shit-_Cullen surrounds himself with. I don't know what he's compensating for—whether he has a small dick or whether he bangs these bimbos because he's too 'special' to make an effort, but I'm not intimidated by him. Men, or rather boys, like Edward Cullen, are what is wrong with our society. I'm not a hypocrite. I know people like me feed the masses all the shit about people like them, getting the general public addicted to it, but that doesn't mean that I condone it. Just like a liquor storeowner doesn't necessarily condone alcoholism. It's a job, and somebody needs to do it. Right now, that somebody is me.

"I'm not going to let the pretty boy anywhere near my panties, if that's what you're worried about," I confirm with a sneer. "He won't stand a chance." I can feel my voice growing in assertiveness, the blood pumping through my veins vigorously as my irritation builds.

My eye catches Jasper's shit-eating grin, and I know I've been had.

"Just checking." He chuckles.

"I hate you," I deadpan.

"You love me." He grins.

"No I don't," I grumble, fastening my hold on the envelope on my lap, embarrassed that I walked straight into his trap.

"Get out of here. Give your current leads to Angela to follow up on. Get packing. Tomorrow is a big day for you, Bella Dwyer," he shoots off his list of instructions.

"So bossy," I joke grudgingly, jumping up from my seat before shooting him a winning smile.

"It's what I do," he replies playfully, casting me a quick wink before I reach his door.

"Do I get promoted if I pull this one off?" I ask before pulling the door open.

"To what?" He barks a laugh. "Head gossiper?"

"I like the sound of that." I join him in laughter.

"We'll talk about it when you get back." He shuns me away with a wave of his hand. "Make me proud."

"I always do," I comment before stepping out of his office.

A feeling of dread momentarily grips me as I stare anxiously over the floor of cubicles filled with my hustling and bustling co-workers.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

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**xoxo**

**And? How was that?**

**I'm so damn nervous this time around. LOL!**

**I'm working on writing a few chapters ahead. If all goes well, I'll be updating weekly once chapter one has been posted.**

**With love,**

**Your Mistress**

**xoxo**


	2. Anxiety

**Hallo, hallo!**

**Thank you all for the amazing response to the first chapter! I squealed for days!**

**Some of you asked for the updating schedule. The plan was to update weekly, but with my current RL obligations, I'm thinking every two weeks will be more realistic at this stage.**

**Thanks a million to adt216 and painjane.**

**To JustPeachy00 – you've been a rock! Thank you!**

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**Then, something off the topic: I've been invited to be a professor at this year's Smut University at PTB. There are some amazing authors who will be posting articles to help new authors learn how to write a lemon.**

**I'll be posting my article on 23 June 2012. **

**If you want to come check it out, here's the link: ****http:/projectteambeta(dot)com/smut-university/**

**They are still taking applications for new students, so don't miss your chance.**

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**Then, an huge, huge, huge thank you to FictionFreak95 for the amazingly awesome banner she made for Body of Work! It's such an honour to know you, Jo. Love your face!**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.**

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**Summary: Bella Swan is a beautiful, spunky gossip columnist. Edward Cullen is an arrogant, hot New York socialite. When Edward is admitted into rehab, Bella will stop at nothing to get her story. On her journey to get the scoop, she will reveal things about Edward that makes her question her own intentions, as more than the truth gets uncovered.**

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**Chapter-One**

∞**Anxiety∞**

"Bella Dwyer?"

"Yes, that's me." I smile timidly at the black haired receptionist. Her hair is cut in an angular bob, cutting a dramatic line across her orange jaw. Someone's been enjoying sun in a bottle a lot, and by the looks of her, the decision was made very deliberately. There is no mistaking that she's acutely aware of her appearance, her movements slow and precise to avoid one of her tentacle-like nails from breaking.

"We've been expecting you," she coos sweetly, causing my teeth to grind. I wonder for a moment if she's actually going for sincere, and if she is, I ponder whether she's aware of the fact that she's failing miserably.

"I believe so." I grace her with one of my very own smiles, catching her off guard for a second. I suppose the people booking in here are far more sullen and emotional. I'll have to start acting the part if I'm ever going to stand a chance at convincing them. I do, however, refuse to act overly brooding and sullen. That kind of thinking will just screw with my mind, and I need to be one hundred and ten percent on top of my game if I plan on achieving anything in the six weeks I'll be visiting this lovely establishment.

I cringe when I think about the amount of time I might be spending here. When I got home yesterday, the panic really set in. After a glass of wine and a good, long sulk, I realised that the more time I had to get to know Edward, the better. There are no guarantees that I'll be able to get him to confide in me in two weeks. Shit, six weeks might not even be enough. Point is, I'm going to need all the time I can get.

Letting my eyes drift over the interior of the reception area as Miss World takes my credit card—or rather, Bella Dwyer's credit card—I reluctantly concede that spending six weeks here might not be that bad after all. The place is insane. I've been in five star hotels that look like backpacker lodges compared o this. It also helps that it's on an island, creating wall-to-wall views of the ocean. I'm not surprised that the rich and famous send their unruly offspring here; it feels more like an upper-class resort in Saint Barts than a rehabilitation centre.

Tanya and Kate would freak the fuck out.

I smile internally, thinking of my two very best and very gay girlfriends. Tanya practically squealed in excitement when I told them about my little adventure last night. That girl thinks I have the best job in the world, mingling with the rich and famous. She still has to catch on the fact that we don't mingle with celebrities because we're invited, but because we infiltrate their inner sanctum like a damn parasite. There really isn't anything glamorous or admirable about it.

Kate, well, she was a different story. She nearly crapped in her pants when I explained what Jasper expected of me. Then again, she never was Jasper's biggest fan. According to her, his skin is too golden and his teeth too white. Apparently, her mother always told her never to trust a man with good teeth. She's a little out there.

"We'll have to inspect your personal belongings real quick." The fake face behind the desk, who I've decided to call Bob from now on because of her haircut, chirps in fake kindness.

Just then, a block of a man—no, a mammoth of a man—steps out from behind a door. My eyes stretch in surprise as I take in his bouncer-like form. Holy hell, this guy is about forty steaks ahead and fifty craps behind.

"Felix, this is Bella," Bob introduces the grizzly to me. "Bella's our new guest, Felix."

I frown at her description. As far as I'm aware of, a guest is someone to whom hospitality or entertainment has been extended by another in the role of host or hostess. I most certainly do not think people who put their 'guests' on a strict diet, and even stricter regiment of exercise and therapy qualifies as hosts.

"I can't remember the last time someone rifled through my handbag when I was a 'guest' of theirs." I air quote sarcastically as I relinquish my belongings to them. Might as well start acting spoilt and rotten now, right?

Bob smiles tightly, and Felix, yeah—no sign of emotion there.

He opens my suitcase as I stand back to assess their invasion of my privacy. I read the admissions package Jasper gave me yesterday carefully. The list of things to 'leave at home' isn't extremely extensive, but it pretty much cuts you off from all the amenities in life. The 'no cell phone or iPod' policy really is the only matter of contention I had with the whole thing. Jasper, however, assured me that we were allowed unsupervised phone calls once a week. Obviously, I feel incredibly privileged.

Felix gives Bob a nod after pushing and pulling the contents of my suitcase around until I'm pretty sure each piece of clothing is now effectively wrinkled.

"No illegal items." Bob sounds almost disappointed as she arches an eyebrow in surprise. I bite back a cocky grin. I bet she loves scoring the perfume their poor, unsuspecting patients need to depart from at the front desk. Yes, no alcohol-based products, including but not limited to mouthwash, aftershave and perfume is allowed. I momentarily wonder if patients are ever that desperate for booze that they'll actually drink their own perfume. The thought makes me shiver.

"Well, then," she continues, handing me a stack of papers. "I'll just need you to sign here, here, and..." She pages through them noisily, pointing at another dotted line with her acrylic nail. "Here."

I step forward and reluctantly sign my life away, willing my hand to awkwardly sign Dwyer instead of Swan.

"Felix will show you to the room you'll be using for the rest of your stay." I nod and move to take my bag, when he makes a swift grab for it. He takes his job very seriously.

"Welcome to Volturi International Centre for Healing, Miss Dwyer." I fight the urge to slap her. "Where before—meets after." I'm pretty sure they stole that phrase from the Style Network.

Fuck my life.

Xoxo

I follow the not-so-cuddly bear down a narrow corridor, faintly lost in the squeaking of my suitcase wheels as they roll over the overly polished wooden flooring. Stepping out of the foyer into the heart of this place where I assume no one else but the patients and staff are allowed, you quickly forget the warm and fuzzy feeling from the impressive reception area. Back here, in spite of all the creams and organza, wood and sunlight, you immediately get that hospital feeling. It's something in the air, I guess. The faint smell of disinfectant and medicine. The startling quiet that blankets the halls in its sullenness. It's really fucking depressing, and it's nothing like home. I feel my heart sink as I slowly follow my captor up a staircase and then down a hallway on the first floor, with doors on either side. There aren't many, about six in total. I recall reading in the brochure that they don't house more than twenty-four patients at a time. I have no idea what kind of strings Jasper had to pull to get me in here and, I'd rather not think about it.

Felix pushes open one of the double doors at the end of the corridor, leading into a spacious room. I step in, allowing my eyes to take in the space. There are two double beds on either side of the room, each with their own bedside table, desk and wardrobe. The furnishings are sparse but expensive. The colours of the room match the ocean outside, and I'm sure if you weren't here to get over your addiction, it would be considered tranquil and pretty even.

Felix pulls my suitcase to the bed closest to the bathroom door. I presume my bunkmate claimed the window. I'm totally okay with that. I'm not here to get better from anything; I'm here to do a job. She may need the view far more than I do.

I jump when he spins around swiftly and holds a binder out to me.

"What's that you've got there, buddy?" I ask with an impish grin. I mean seriously, the guy should learn to lighten up.

He frowns deeply and pushes the binder into my chest.

"Easy does it," I chuckle. "What is this?"

"That would be your roster," a bored female voice sounds from behind me.

I turn around in surprise to find a dirty blonde with huge tits strolling into the room. Well, hello, Britney.

"Thanks, Felix. I'll take it from here." I hardly pay the man any attention as my eyes follow the girl, dressed in overly tight Capri pants, from the door to the bed by the window. My roommate, I presume, falls onto the bed carelessly, tilting her head back for a second, before raising her gaze back to mine as she leans back on her elbows.

"I'm Lauren."

"Bella." I nod, sitting down stiffly on my own bed.

"I would say I'm pleased to meet you, but there sure is nothing pleasing about meeting in a place like this," she drawls sardonically, giving me her version of a pleasant smile.

"Agreed." I'm sticking to one-word sentences for now. I still need to perfect my persona before I say something that might contradict my carefully crafted alias.

"So, I'll be your tour guide for the day. You'll get to meet the doctors tomorrow." Something gives me the impression that she's not too happy about this. It could be the fact that she's constantly rolling her eyes, or absentmindedly picking at her fingernails.

"Thank you," I offer, only to receive a rather unladylike snort in return.

"Like I have a choice," she mumbles as she pushes herself upright to face me. "They always do this. Put the newbies with the veterans so we can act as some kind of mentor. I can hardly take care of myself, not to mention someone I know fuck all about."

"I understand." Really, I'm trying to be very understanding here. I get it. She's not here to make friends, and neither am I—apart from one—but that's work.

"I don't think you do." She smirks, crossing her legs and leaning forward on the balls of her hands. "Either way, I'm stuck with you until sunrise, so try to keep up, okay?"

"Okay." I can be a good listener when I need to be.

"The dude with the stick up his ass, Felix, just gave you your roster. It tells you when to eat, when to sleep, when your group and individual sessions are, hell—" she laughs, "—it even tells you when to take a dump."

I stare at her blankly.

"I'm kidding." She laughs even louder, and I have the intense urge to punch her in the mouth. "Well, about the taking-a-shit part, at least." She sobers up again and pushes herself from the bed.

"The bathroom." She points to the door behind me. "We share, so try to keep it clean, please."

I nod.

"This is my side of the room." She arches her arms around her, clearly marking her territory. "Don't, under any circumstances, touch my stuff."

I nod.

"Lights out at ten. Breakfast at seven. Lunch at one. Dinner at six. Don't be late, trust me," she says the last part with a dramatic scowl.

I nod again. I'm becoming a very good nodder.

"The rest will either be on your roster, or you'll pick it up as we go along."

"Okay."

"If you need anything from the nurse to make it through your first night without..." She trails off, giving me an opportunity to declare my issues.

"Alcohol," I state carefully.

"This your first time in rehab?" she asks suspiciously.

"Yep."

"God help you." Her laugh makes my anxiety flare. "Like I was saying, if you need help from the nurse to make it through your first night, her office is right where you came in on the left."

"Thank you." I'm not stopping at the nurse, for obvious reasons.

"Follow me. I'll take you to your first send-off." She walks ahead without waiting for me.

I jump up from my bed and jog after her, catching up just as she's about to descend the stairs.

"What's a send-off?"

"You really are a virgin, aren't you?" She sounds mildly amused.

I don't answer. I mean, we've covered this already.

"It's when one of the patients is sent into the wild."

"I'm not following." I feel like I've stepped into a country with its own language. One I was never told to learn.

"She's being released. To go home. She's considered rehabilitated."

"Oh." I smile. "That's good news right?" Someone made it through the twelve steps and is ready to claim back their life. Sounds pretty wonderful from where I'm standing.

"It's fucking frightening, that's what it is," Lauren answers bluntly. "Life out there is a lot harder than life in here."

Her comment confuses me. Why would anyone rather be in this place, where a soundtrack of whales and dolphins and other aquatic creatures plays over the speakers constantly, instead of back home?

"There she is," Lauren announces as she pushes open the door that leads back into the foyer.

A couple of people are standing around. Mostly women around my age, and maybe a little younger, and two men make up the small crowd. My eyes take them in as they form a circle around a small, Goth girl with spiky, black hair in the middle. I'm disappointed that Edward isn't part of the little gathering. Probably considers himself too good for all this.

Lauren pulls at my wrist until I'm part of the circle and grasps my hand.

"Alice," a blonde woman with a tight ponytail speaks from inside the group. She's dressed in a formal pants suit, and I immediately realise that she must be one of the doctors or counsellors. She goes on to wish the girl well when Lauren leans into my ear.

"That's Jane," she whispers. "She's Aro Volturi's daughter and one of our group counsellors."

I nod to indicate that I hear her.

"Don't fuck with her," her voice drills into my ear. "She's a clever bitch."

I stare curiously at the dainty little woman. She seems harmless as she smiles warmly at the glum girl in the middle of our little circle. I'm about to ask Lauren about her when the group starts the familiar chant of the serenity prayer.

I immediately fall in with them. I've watched 28 Days with Sandra Bullock too. I know that shit.

Once everyone is done, and Lauren returns from giving the girl a hug, she pulls me back into the corridor leading to our room.

"She'll be back," she sighs as we ascend the stairs.

"What?" I ask in confusion. "Why do you say that?" I'm mortified by her dark outlook on life.

"Alice is what we call 'a lifer'." Lauren explains as we approach our room once again, and I notice a bit of pink lipstick stuck to her front teeth. I don't tell her though, a little peeved at her attitude towards the released inmate.

"'A lifer'"

"It means she's more addicted to rehab than she is to the drugs itself," she explains in what I now assume is her usually bored tone.

My frown moves Lauren to elaborate with a heavy sigh.

"She's the daughter of some rich oil magnate in Texas. Daddy's never there. She's bored out of her mind. Rehab is like her home, you know?" No, I don't know. Obviously, I know jack shit about any of this. "At least here, someone's paying her attention."

I remain silent, lost in sullen thoughts.

"That's so sad," I comment more to myself than anyone else.

"I'm heading out to my next chore," she continues as if I never spoke. "Unpack, and I'll come get you in time for dinner."

I remain silent as she exits the room, closing the door behind her softly as I close my eyes simultaneously.

This is almost too much to handle. For the first time since Jasper made this ridiculous suggestion, I have the distinct feeling that I'm in way over my head. I'm torn between pondering the fate of the girl called Alice, someone I don't even know, and the task that lies ahead.

If I'm going to make it through this without being exposed as the imposter I am, I'm going to have to stick with Lauren. She's a sullen bitch, but she appears to be quite forthcoming with information. Besides, it can't all be as bad as she depicts it. Sure, there are rules and the place seems to be strictly regulated, but I'm good with that. I can stick to mandates.

I should be fine, right?

Xoxo

Anxiety and fear are eating away at me. I pace around the room wildly, considering my own sanity for agreeing to do something as crazy as this.

The walls are empty, the space unfamiliar and I have a sudden pang to go home. Not New York home, but Forks, Washington home. Where my mother's comforting arms and really bad cooking is always waiting for me. Where someone is at least proud of what I've accomplished in life. Although, I seriously doubt Renee would be too impressed with what I'm about to do.

I finally decide to stuff my wrinkled clothing—thank you, Felix—into the wardrobe with a listless sigh, struggling against the mounting feeling of shame from incapacitating me.

I've checked out the bathroom. It's a decent size with a tub and shower, which far surpasses my measly little tiled hole at home.

I've checked out the view from Lauren's window, right before I realized she would shit a brick if she found me in _her space_. I'm tempted to jump on her bed and move the little trinkets on her bedside table just slightly to the left, to see if she'll notice, and maybe to drive her a little crazy. Then again, I don't know her; she might actually cut me or smother me with her boobs in my sleep.

I've changed out of my travel clothes into a well worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

I've washed my face, combed my hair, pulled it into a ponytail and then hastily released it again, just to pull it up once more.

I've paced and hummed along with the whales, feeling like Dory from _Finding Nemo_.

I've painted my nails and changed my shoes, all this while cursing the day I met Jasper.

I haven't mustered the courage to look at the binder yet. It seems daunting and, right now, a healthy dose of denial is just what I need to make it through my first day. Guess I'm not that much different than the people in here after all.

I'm about ready to make my escape and explore the rest of the facility when Lauren comes sauntering back in.

"Are you ready?" She hardly makes eye contact as she blows a huge bubble between her lips.

"Yes," I answer almost mutely. I'll still get to explore, but with a guide, it would seem.

She regards me with a frown, before she shrugs and starts walking back into the corridor.

"Where are the phones?" I ask once I've caught up with her. I haven't spoken to Jasper since I got here, and although there isn't much to report on, I don't want to miss the opportunity to tell him that he owes me fucking big time for this.

"I'll show you on the way to the dining room."

"Okay." My voice sounds excited even to my own ears. Contact with the outside world sounds damn good right about now.

"Why?" She eyes me warily.

"I need to make a call." I shrug.

"You won't be allowed one today," she says with a patronizing giggle. "Didn't you read the binder?"

"I have to let my, uh, family know I'm safe," I fib, feeling my high spirits slowly sink into my chucks.

"Not today, you won't." She shakes her head decisively as we start our way down the stairs. Instead of heading straight into the foyer, we turn left into another corridor.

"Why?" I'm coming off whiney, but I don't care. I'm supposed to be difficult, aren't I?

"Read the binder." Lauren shrugs simply just as she raises her hand to point to a corridor to the right. "Phones are in there."

I nod, slowing down to get a better look.

"The doors are locked." She sighs as she comes to a halt. "They only open up again tomorrow. If you want to make a call tonight, you'll have to ask Jane or one of the night staff."

"You're kidding?" I'm so close to throwing a fucking toddler tantrum all over their pretentious floors.

"Nope." She's walking again, pushing through the double doors at the end of the hall without a second glance in my direction.

I give the locked door a final longing look before jogging after her to catch up, not wanting to be left alone just quite yet. It feels like the first day of high school, where you stick to your best friend like shit on a blanket, afraid of your new surroundings, afraid of the seniors. There's safety in numbers. And right now, I'm not a confident New York journalist—okay, journalist might be a stretch, but I digress. I'm the 'new girl' in a strange place where nobody knows my name. In other words, this is not _Cheers_.

I push and fumble with the swinging doors, which by the way, are far heavier and sturdier than they look.

"Shit!" I exclaim, rather loudly I might add, as they almost push me over and onto my ass.

I'm slightly stunned when I finally win my war against the elusive doors, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

The room in front of me is quiet, pan flutes or some shit playing in the background, candlelight casting golden, soft hues, tables filled by quietly eating patients and personnel. Quietly-eating patients and personnel all turned towards me, staring gapingly at my little display of clumsiness.

"Sorry," I mumble in embarrassment as I make my way towards Lauren, who's waiting not so patiently for me at the buffet line.

"Way to make an entrance, Bella." She rolls her eyes before grabbing a plate and handing it to me.

The room is still filled with soft whispers as curious eyes openly follow my movements. I feel like a sideshow freak as our plates are slowly being filled with green, green and more green. I scan the contents of my plate, looking up to meet the amused eyes of chocolate-skinned girl.

"It's salmon today," she talks quietly, her voice soft and friendly. Clearly, my facial expressions are going to be a problem for me. They hide nothing of what I'm thinking. I'll have to remedy that.

I give her a watery smile as she places a slab of steamed salmon on my plate.

"They only serve meat once a week, on Saturdays," Lauren speaks when she notices my grimace.

"I read they keep us on a strong diet, but this?" I hiss under my breath, unwilling to cast more attention on myself than I'm already receiving. I'm not opposed to fish. I do, however, come from a town which was named after the forks in the river running through it. Said river houses a variety of fish species, which translates into fish made in every which way possible and featured as the main course in every meal.

"At least you read something," she grumbles lowly. This time, I roll my eyes at her, earning me her first genuine laugh. "Read." She picks up a piece of grey tofu. "The." She slaps it onto my plate. "Binder." And with that, she stalks off to a table, with me shuffling behind her reluctantly.

I push the plate away from me once I've taken a seat. The space is surprisingly intimate. There aren't any long, steel tables as you would find in a cafeteria. It looks more like the inside of a moderately fancy restaurant, with smaller, wooden tables covered in white linen that only seat four. There are flowers on every table and small lanterns that cast a welcoming glow around the room. It's...nice.

My eyes drift over to a table where Jane is seated with three other men.

"Who are they?" I ask, tilting my head in their direction.

"You know who Jane is." I nod. "They guy on her left is Marcus. He's your individual counsellor. You'll probably meet him tomorrow. The other two are Alec and Caius. They're night security staff. Here to keep us all in order."

I eye them curiously. They're a solemn group, that's for sure. Dressed in all black, hair combed back from their faces, lips that move minutely as they talk softly amongst each other.

I allow myself to take a look at the rest of the people surrounding us. There are no more than twenty other people, all seemingly patients. None of them are Edward.

"Why are we sitting alone?" I ask as my eyes cut back to Lauren's.

"New patients are kept separate from the rest until they've seen Marcus. He decides when you get to mingle with the commoners. Until then, it's you and me." She doesn't offer more as she takes a big bite of her salmon, grinning at me mockingly.

I'm about to bite into a scrumptious—see, I'm trying—salad green when the door from hell swings open to reveal a pair of faded jeans. My eyes follow the movements of said jeans, noting that they hang rather nicely from narrow hips, just low enough to make you want to squint to see if a boxer brief might peak out and join the party. I smile, allowing my eyes to feast, instead of my mouth as I lower my fork slightly. I tilt my head to the side, trying to get a better view of the ass covered by those sinful jeans, and then...I stop.

I know who that ass belongs to. You see, I'm an ass girl, plain and simple. I know every ass worth knowing, and _that_ delicious ass, has received far more attention than most.

Edward_-squeeze-my-cheeks-_Cullen is in the building.

If I didn't recognize him by his scrumptious rump, the narrow waste and broad shoulders would have given him away. Or even the well defined muscles revealed by his white t-shirt. But, most of all, the shock of wild auburn hair would have sold him out. Edward Cullen certainly has a presence about him, one that demands the attention of everyone in a room. It's more than his arrogant confidence and lazy strut, or even his cocky smirk and bored expression. It's the 'more' that finds me here—the reason for pulling this crazy stunt. It's the secrets he keeps.

"Stop staring. It's rude." I jump as Lauren pokes my shoulder, causing my fork to fall to my plate with a loud clang.

"What the fuck?" I gasp in surprise.

"You were staring." She shrugs innocently.

"So what," I mumble petulantly as I stare at my untouched plate. After I regain my previous composure, I peek up at her and decide to just go for it.

"Who's that?" I tilt my head in Edward's direction. It's time to get to business.

"Who? That?" She raises her arm to point at him.

I slap her hand sharply, earning a shocked whimper from my new best friend.

"It's rude to point too, you know?" I sass coyly, fighting the urge to laugh at her stunned expression.

She grumbles something beneath her breath before dropping her arm slowly.

"Where the hell are you from?"

"What do you mean?" I frown in confusion.

"In what podunk town do you live that you don't know who he is?"

"Forks, Washington." Little does she know?

"Good grief," she sighs with a roll of her eyes. She really does that a lot. "That, little green, is Edward Cullen."

She pauses for dramatic effect, probably hoping that the name will ring a bell. I feign ignorance. I also ignore her nickname for me.

"He's only the hottest, most promiscuous, asshole to walk the streets of Manhattan."

I peak at him from below my lashes, nearly gagging out loud as he turns and slowly strolls in our direction, head held high, aristocratically, arrogantly. Boy, I really don't like this dude.

"His father is the new Donald Trump of New York," she whispers conspiratorially. "And Eddie there is following in his footsteps. Well, apart from his little detour here, of course."

I nod silently, keeping my eyes fixed on his movements, desperately attempting to hide my blatant surveillance. He's every girl's wet dream. Luckily for me, I'm asexual when it comes to my job.

"He thinks he's too good for the rest of us, obviously," Lauren comments bitterly. "Check this out."

"Hey, Eddie," she coos sweetly once he's only a few steps away from us.

He lowers his gaze to Lauren, hardly acknowledging her existence, before they flicker to mine briefly. And just like that, without a word or even a batting of a lash to confirm that he heard her greeting, he strolls right past.

"See? Asshole." She sounds mildly victorious.

I blink a couple of times in surprise. His beauty is a punch to the gut. Seriously, there are no words to describe it. But his attitude, that's what makes my stomach churn.

During the course of this morning, there were moments I felt like a complete dipshit for doing this, for coming to this place uninvited. But after that marvellous display of obscene superiority, I feel any and all reluctance to pursue this story fade away with the dipping sun.

Edward Cullen does not deserve an ounce of my guilt or anxiety.

With newly affirmed resolve, I dig hungrily into my plate of leaves, fish and rubber.

Lauren raises an eyebrow in question to which I simply shrug.

Tomorrow, my plan of attack will come into full force.

Tonight, I'm reading that fucking binder.

xoxo

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** Did you like it? I'm dying to hear from you, so please drop me a line.**

**I can be found on facebook (TheSaintsMistress Nicos) and on Twitter (SaintsMistress) if you wanna come say hello there!**

**With love...**

**Your Mistress**

**xoxo**


	3. Sweating

**Thank you adt216 and painjane for your assistance as always – you rock!**

**Kisses and hugs to JustPeachy00 who's always willing to help and listen and gave me some great advice on this chapter.**

**Thanks to everyone that's reading and reviewing! You ladies sure know how to treat a girl! : )**

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**Smut University 2012. There are some amazing authors who will be posting articles with the purpose to learn new authors how to write a lemon.**

**I'll be posting my article on 23 June 2012. **

**If you want to come check it out, here's the link:  projectteambeta(dot)com/smut-university/**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.**

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**Summary: Bella Swan is a beautiful, spunky gossip columnist. Edward Cullen is an arrogant, hot New York socialite. When Edward is admitted into rehab, Bella will stop at nothing to get her story. On her journey to get the scoop, she will reveal things about Edward that makes her question her own intentions, as more than the truth gets uncovered.**

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**Chapter-Two**

∞**Sweating∞**

"Ah, Bella Dwyer."

The gravelly male voice speaking behind me probably wouldn't have startled me as much if I wasn't bent at the waist, palms flat against the glass screen of Marcus Covina's door—the Volturi therapist—trying to peek through the half open blinds.

"Dr. Covina?" I spin around to be greeted with an elderly face, framed by stark black hair, eyes like peppercorns and a philtrum as long as my thumb. I stare at the prominent, vertical groove between his nose and lips curiously and in complete fascination.

When I was in preschool, Jessica Stanley, the bane of my existence, accused my mother of being a smoker when she was pregnant with me because my philtrum wasn't as pronounced as it should be. According to her, it was a medically proven fact. That afternoon, I interrogated my mother like a veteran cop, which would have made my father proud, trying to get her to admit to her earlier smoking habits. Renee denied ever touching a cigarette, and after many tears and hours of frustration, she finally told me that Jessica had a more visible philtrum because she had a runny nose as a baby and a mother that didn't care enough to wipe it for her.

Of course, some years later I found out that neither Jessica nor Renee was telling the truth, but by that time, Jessica had developed really bad skin in comparison to my perfectly peachy complexion. All was right with the world again.

To this day, it's still a part of the human anatomy that catches my interest. And Marcus Covina has a philtrum that is worth every second glance.

"Why don't we step in, Miss Dwyer?" he asks gently, shuffling past me.

"Bella," I murmur, finally pulling my eyes from his face and stepping into his office.

"Bella," he concedes softly as he closes the door behind him. "I'm Marcus."

"Hi," I mumble absentmindedly as my eyes scan over the contents of the room, finding nothing special. It's an office like any other, and I'm in it.

"Please." He waves a hand to a sturdy looking chair opposite his desk. "Take a seat."

I mumble a thank you as I lower myself onto the suede furniture, keeping my eyes averted from his. If anyone in this place is going to be able to see through this farce, it will be him. I swallow thickly, and fold my slightly shaking hands over my knee.

"Nervous?" he asks gently, pulling a folder from his desk.

I can admit that I am, right? A 'real' patient would be, wouldn't they?

"Yes," I croak, following the movements of his wrinkled hands as they open the folder and raise it closer to his face.

"Are you having trouble sleeping?" he asks next.

I do, but not because of my 'withdrawal,' but because it's damn hot and Lauren refuses to sleep with the A/C on. Apparently, it dries out her sinuses.

"Yes," I answer instead.

"That's normal. You might experience some irritability and headaches over the next couple of days too. Has Lauren told you where the nurse is?" He speaks from behind what I can only assume is my patient file.

"She has."

"Good." He lowers the file back to the desk. "You can get anti-anxiety meds from her if it becomes too much."

"Thanks," I mumble, already considering that anti-anxiety medication might just be what I need to get me through the next couple of weeks because if there's one thing I am feeling, it's anxious. The cooing and howling of marine life, incessantly wafting through the speakers are not helping...at all.

"We won't have a full session today," he continues, and I'm mesmerized. Not a single facial muscle moves when he speaks. Not even his bottom lip. The only moving part of Marcus Covina that seems to be partaking in his attempts to put me at ease is his peculiarly thin top lip. It causes his nose to twitch on every second syllable, and all I'm able to think of is hamsters. He looks like a damn hamster.

"Bella?"

I jump a little when I hear my name, knowing that I haven't followed a single word he's been saying. So much for staying calm and focused.

"Sorry," I stutter. "Could you repeat that?" I feel like a complete tool when he smiles widely—or rather his top lips smiles widely as the rest stays...yes...it's still completely motionless.

"I asked whether you've had a chance to read the binder yet."

"Oh, yes." I nod eagerly, concentrating hard on concentrating.

I read that damn binder. All fifteen, tedious, uneventful pages written by someone who has far too much time on their hands and obviously no desire to have sex. Ever. But I soldiered through, because it became abundantly clear that everything in this place runs according to the specifications of that uninspired piece of work—every minute of the day accounted for—every possible choice or decision you might ever plan to make factored in. It read like the Ten Commandments.

"Good." He seems pleased. "Then you'll know there are certain rules and regulations we expect all our patients to abide by."

I nod.

I won't be surprised if this fine specimen of a man sitting before me is the author of said binder.

I watch as he reaches into his green corduroy jacket and pulls out a handkerchief, before answering the mating call of the whales' song floating through the speakers with the distinct trumpeting of air pushing through his nostrils, as he blows with the force of a thousand winds.

Nope. I won't be surprised at all.

"Don't be late for your kitchen duties," he warns semi-pleasantly once he has wiped and rubbed and cleaned that nose to a bright, shining red.

"I won't."

"If you are, there will be repercussions."

"What kind of repercussions?" I ask slowly, trying to remember the binder mentioning anything about 'repercussions.'

"The punishment will suit the crime, don't worry." His statement does nothing to make me feel unworried.

"Don't be late for your sessions," he continues smoothly. "Or there will be repercussions."

"Got it," I acknowledge grimly.

I feel my freedom slipping away with each word he speaks. It's fine, though. I'm here for one purpose and one purpose only. Edward Cullen. This is a job, and to that, freedom comes second.

No rules or punishment or even creepy therapists are going to deter me from my mission.

After the whole debacle with Edward's blatant dismissal of Lauren's greeting, she told me that even after being given the go-ahead from Marcus, Edward still prefers to sit alone, only ever speaking to Emmett, his roommate, on occasion, but never at length.

Of course, Lauren didn't tell me all of this like a gossipy airhead. No, she regaled me with this bit of information in her usually bored and patronizing tone, as if speaking to me at all is a gift, and one that I should be eternally thankful for.

Which I am, as long as she feeds me information.

I'm determined. I guess it shows because Dr. Covina's eyes reflect a brief hint of amusement as he continues.

"Our first session will be on Thursday. It'll give you some time to settle in, get used to your surroundings."

"Thank you." I try to sound as polite as possible.

"If you need an earlier session, my door is always open." I nod. "Unless it's not." I'm assuming this is his attempt at a joke. I don't know what gave it away, his expectant expression, the slight tremor in his top lip, or the fact that a tight, wheezing sound seems to be emanating from his chest.

I chuckle awkwardly, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

"I believe you have a group session next?" he asks with a clearing of his throat once he's composed himself.

"Yes," I sigh heavily. Apart from my appointments with Marcus every week, that is the one other thing I'm dreading more than most. I won't have to convince one person I'm an addict in there...no, I'll have to convince a whole group. I swallow thickly as my stomach twists in nervous knots.

"Very well then," he says, closing what I assume is my file. "You don't want to be late for that, or—"

"There will be repercussions?" I interrupt him, unable to keep the mock from my voice.

He nods, 'smiling', which I take as my cue to get the fuck out of here.

"See you Thursday, Bella," he calls after me. "And feel free to mingle with the other patients. I'm taking you off restriction." I don't even turn to acknowledge him, closing the door behind me swiftly before taking a deep breath with my eyes squeezed closed.

I take a moment, leaning against his office door to calm myself. So, my therapist is a freak. That shouldn't be a problem. I'm from New York, after all. There are more freaks there per square mile than you can find in a year's worth of _Craig's List_ publications.

Next time I come to see him, I'll be better prepared.

First, I have my group session to get through, and a sneaky suspicion tells me nothing will ever be able to prepare me for that.

xoxo

My palms are so sweaty I bet if I press it against the glass pane of Session Room One's door, I would leave a print much the same as the steamy one in _Titanic_.

The circumstances are a bit different though. I'm definitely not having sex in the backseat of a vintage vehicle.

I try to make out the distorted figures inside the room through the sandblasted glass, but I can't see a damn thing, which sets me even more on edge.

With my thumb in my mouth, my teeth working hard on destroying my nail, I stand back again and briefly consider making a run for it. Unfortunately, we're on an island, so I'm not entirely sure how far I'll get before I hit the ocean, and swimming to New York is definitely not an option.

"Pull yourself together, Bella," I softly scold myself as I rub my wet thumb dry against my thigh.

"You can do this." The pep-talk ensues. "Just grab the handle, turn it, and walk in."

My eyes are frozen on the brass knob staring patiently back at me. It's buffed to a perfect shine, reflecting my distorted figure in almost crystal like clearness.

I take three deep breaths, mumbling incoherently as I attempt to calm myself.

After the final breath, my hand reaches out shakily and grabs onto the knob as if it's the last thing I'll ever do.

I'm staring at the whitening of my knuckles, caused by my not so delicate grip, when the door is suddenly yanked open. I'm flung forward, a startled yelp escaping my unsuspecting lips, before my body collides with a brick wall covered in plaid.

"Thought I saw someone standing out here." The voice is so deep, in my confusion to figure out what the hell just happened, I momentarily imagine it to be God himself speaking.

Following the buttons holding the plaid together upwards, I finally reach a head towering as high as the heavens above me. I push my hair from my face and squint up at the man standing before me, or up against me rather.

A dimpled smile moves as he speaks again.

"Don't be afraid," he says. "We don't bite."

And then he leans into me, mouth against my ear. "Unless you're into that?"

"Wha—"

"Emmett." An authoritative voice manages to pull the giant smile out of my personal space. "Why don't you come take a seat and bring Miss Dwyer with you?"

"Sure thing." The man called Emmett chuckles before making a grab for my hand and pulling me into the room behind him.

I stumble to keep up with his pace, keeping my head lowered as every eye in the room watches our entrance. I'm being manhandled by Edward's roommate. How nice.

"Why don't you take a seat right here, Miss Dwyer?" the woman speaks again, pointing to a chair in front of her.

I nod and practically throw myself into the upright plastic seat, pulling my hand out of Emmett's hastily.

This is not how I imagined making my entrance, at all.

"Emmett," she speaks again. "I think it would be best if you take a seat next to Edward over there."

At the sound of _his_ name, my head immediately whips into the direction her hand is pointing.

I hear Emmett grumbling his disappointment, but my eyes remain fixed on their target.

He's staring into the distance, seemingly unaware of any of the commotion going on around him. I'm actually quite relieved that he didn't see the less than stellar entrance I made.

Nothing about his posture indicates that any of this interests him. He's leaning back in his chair; practically sitting on his last vertebra, long denim covered legs spread wide open, feet kicked out casually. The only indication that he may or may not be guarded in this moment is his arms that are crossed firmly over his chest and the irregular tick in his jaw.

"Miss Dwyer, welcome." I turn my head away from Edward and focus my attention where it's required. "I'm Jane Volturi, your group counsellor for the duration of your stay with us."

"Bella," I correct her. Hearing the foreign surname used to address me feels utterly bizarre.

"Thank you, Bella." Jane responds pleasantly.

I'm not sure why she's thanking me, but if my willingness to have her call me by my first name pleases her this much, we must be off to a good start. I feel myself relaxing minutely.

"Why don't you introduce yourself to the group, and then we can get started."

I smile and nod before rising on shaky legs.

I've seen this done in the movies countless times. It should be a walk in the park.

"Hi, I'm Bella Dwyer. I'm from Forks, Washington." I deliver steadily, keeping my eyes on the linoleum floor in front of me. "And, I'm an alcoholic."

I sigh a breath of relief, grateful that I've made it through my speech without much trouble, and raise my head to receive the perfunctory _"Hi Bella"_.

Instead, I receive nothing apart from a few snickers and silence.

"Umm, thank you, Bella." Jane smiles awkwardly at me.

I stiffly take my seat again, feeling the tips of my ears burn in embarrassment. From beneath my cloak of hair, I scan the faces of the room surrounding me. Some seem amused, some sympathetic, and Edward...still not as much as a flinch. What the fuck is going on here?

"Bella," Jane continues softly. "Marcus should have told you this, or Lauren for that matter, but we work a little differently here than what you might be used to at a regular AA meeting."

I frown, trying to remember snippets of my conversation with Marcus earlier, and not recalling him mentioning anything like this. Lauren certainly didn't.

"Our groups are mixed. In other words, you are surrounded by alcoholics, drug addicts and sex addicts."

This is what Marcus must have been saying when I was staring at the immobile features of his face, paying no attention to his ramblings.

"We do not require our patients to declare their addiction in front of each other. That is left for your sessions with Marcus."

I'm going to kill Lauren.

"Here at Volturi, we don't treat the symptoms or the addiction. We treat the cause."

My eyes once again flicker to my fellow patients, who now seem utterly bored. After a quick head count I notice that there are ten of us, including me.

Great. I just outed myself in front of eight other patients and one very important target.

"You will come to see in your time here that the issues that cause all of us to act in certain ways, whether we turn to drink or drugs, whether we make ourselves emotionally unattainable, or whether we pour ourselves into our jobs, are pretty much all the same across the board."

I nod, still trying to recover some composure.

"That's what we'll be focusing on in these sessions. The things that move us to do what we do to get by, and of course, the healthier alternatives to that."

Sounds pretty sensible. I wish I had listened when Marcus spoke. I wish my roommate and so-called mentor wasn't a regular old bitch.

"So you see? We really don't have to say why we're here, only that we're here to learn to make better choices. That being said—" She stops to give me a brief smile. "I'm glad you're this open about your situation. It's a great start."

Giving her a watery smile in return, I clasp my hands together in my lap and slowly lean back in my chair, allowing myself to relax a little.

"Okay." Jane claps her hands together twice, and then she's off. "Now that we've all met Bella, be sure to introduce yourselves to her whenever you get a moment."

_Yeah_, I think to myself, _introduce yourself, and I'll simply not say hi back_. Fuckers.

"So, what I want us to do today is think of one thing that nobody knows about you, that you believe might contribute to your addiction."

Oh shit.

"Let's start with Rosalie." Jane steps to the side, turning her body to face a blond sitting at the far side of our half circle. The woman tilts her head to the side, exposing parts of her slender neck and pouts her perfectly plump limps in thought. I should be intimidated by her beauty, but having Kate and Tanya as my best friends, who happen to be two very successful New York models, startling beauty really doesn't throw me anymore.

"I'm insecure." Her voice jingles through the silence.

_Of course you are. _

"Very good," Jane encourages her. "And most people don't know this?"

Rosalie laughs bitterly, arching a challenging eyebrow. "People take one look at me and wish they could either be me or fuck me. No one ever considers that I might be just as unsure of who and what I am as they are."

Her words do surprise me. I certainly wouldn't think that a woman looking like that would have a single insecurity in the world.

"And how do you think your insecurities translate into your addiction?"

"My addiction makes me feel powerful. I take what I need from it and walk away," she answers simply.

"So there's no opportunity for judgment?"

"Yeah." She nods, satisfied with Jane's assessment. I feel a little lost, but that could be due to the fact that I don't actually know what she's in for. I once again curse my life for standing up and blurting out my 'addiction.' Anonymity in that regard really could have helped me along in my goal.

"What about you, Mike?" Jane turns to the thin, pale boy sitting beside Rosalie. He looks to be the youngest of the group, hardly eighteen from the looks of his pubescent skin and bum fluff for facial hair. He's dressed like a skater boy, his attempts at trying to look 'cool' blatantly obvious and failing miserably.

"Umm." He shifts uneasily in his chair, keeping his eyes averted from Jane before settling his gaze shyly on mine. "I crave touch," he mumbles, and I can feel my heart breaking at his words.

Someone give the damn boy a hug!

When nobody makes a move, I find myself smiling at him sympathetically. His eyes are alight in seconds, and I nearly burst out in tears. It's wrong not to be touched. I would never survive a day without at least one hug.

"Mike, do you mind clarifying what kind of touch it is that you crave?" Jane coaxes gently.

"Well," He smiles impishly and I grin back encouragingly. "Umm," he chuckles uncomfortably. "I crave sexual touch, mostly. Umm...yeah..."

My smile immediately drops from my face, being replaced by gaping in nanoseconds.

He shrugs at my sudden change of demeanour, and I don't know who blushes harder, me or him.

"How does this fire your addiction?"

I drop my eyes to my shoes. He almost had me, the little perv.

"When I'm indulging, I feel free and less self-conscious. I could never walk up to a girl and kiss her completely sober, much less try to talk to her."

And...now I feel bad.

"Very good, Mike. Let's go to Edward next." I'm instantly upright, ears perking in interest.

Feeling sorry for perv-boy will have to wait.

Edward's gaze lifts lazily from the floor to Jane as I hold my breath, hanging on to each move of his lips, each twitch of his jaw.

"I'm bored," he deadpans in a low, grave voice.

Well that's just rude. Sure, this exercise isn't exactly prime time stuff, but jeez, at least everyone is trying.

"No one knows this about you?"

Oh... Oh!

I frown deeply at the meaning of his words, now that I'm actually on the same page. Is he really trying to convince us that a guy of his means and lifestyle could actually be bored? I'm not buying it.

"Nope." A man of few words, clearly.

"And this pushes you harder towards your addiction, why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Not to me it's not.

"I suppose it is," Jane agrees, which has me gaping at her in surprise. What the fuck? She isn't going to grill him for more? He just gets to say three words and she's done with him?

As she continues down the circle, I suppress the urge to call him out on his barely-there confession. But, I need to think of what I'm going to say when Jane reaches me. There will be more than enough opportunity to dig up his dirt later.

What are the things about me that could push me to make bad decisions like these people have? I immediately think of my job. It's a running office joke that I'm a workaholic. Bella Swan, married to the job...

"Your turn, Bella." Jane's voice interrupts my internal thoughts.

"Oh—I—" I stumble and fumble, feeling my throat constrict as all eyes are on me again. Taking a deep breath, I delve deeply. There has to be something there.

"I'm headstrong." Slips through my lips without any further thought. I frown at my own words, unsure of how the hell I'm going to spin this one.

"And people don't know this about you?" Oh crap, they _so_ do.

"Uh, no, they do, I guess." Think, think, think! "People would just never imagine that that quality is actually my downfall."

"Interesting." Her voice really does relay her interest, and I feel a sudden burst of confidence.

"Yeah, you know?" I wing it. "Because the more people tell me I have a problem, the more I try to prove that I don't. That I'm in control of it, and not the other way around." Huh? That's actually, kinda...true.

"And how has that worked out for you, Bella?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" I answer sardonically. And that's true too. My obvious need to prove that there is no challenge I cannot face, even booking into rehab to expose the Edward Cullen mystery, is exactly the reason why I'm here. Lucky for me, I'm totally okay with that.

Why?

I like to win.

xoxo

"You have some explaining to do," I hiss under my breath as I reach Lauren, who's standing outside the dining hall, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Did Marcus give you permission to move freely?" she asks, ignoring my obvious frustration.

"Yes." I shrug. "Why didn't you tell me I didn't have to tell everyone I'm an alcoholic?"

"Ugh, I don't have time for this," she huffs. "I'm on lunch duty. You're on your own."

"No." I try to stop her, but she's through the doors before I can put a hand on her. I grumble in annoyance and push the doors open aggressively. I won't let those swinging devils get the better of me again.

The dining hall is mostly full as people are either standing in line to be served lunch, or quietly munching away at their tables.

Where the hell am I going to sit?

Before panic gets a chance to settle in my belly, I notice Edward standing last in line.

This is my chance to finally speak to him.

I shuffle quietly, yet quickly in his direction and fall in the line behind him. This is the first time I've ever been in such close proximity to him. He's really tall, and he smells good. Knowing we're not allowed to bring perfume or aftershave into this place, and that Edward Cullen would most certainly never be caught using something as commercial and common like Axe, I have no other option but to surmise that the delicious smell is all him.

I snort softly. How typical. It's like rich people are too blessed to stink.

He takes a plate, and I take the opportunity.

"Hi," I greet sweetly. "I'm Bella."

Game on.

The words hang in the air between us awkwardly. I notice him looking at me from the corner of his eye briefly, before turning his gaze back to the food, holing his plate out for a serving of what looks like vegetable lasagne.

I can actually feel a bead of sweat trickling down my back as the uncomfortable silence stretches out between us. At this rate, I'm going to need a more lethal brand of deodorant.

Just when I think he's actually going to ignore me, he speaks.

"The alcoholic. I remember." His words stun me. Not because they sound of good breeding and money, but because he _did_ listen in the session.

"Uh, yeah." I laugh uncomfortably, feeling my ears burn again at the memory of my epic failure.

Damn you, Lauren.

"You're Edward, right?" I ask, turning to watch an older man fill my plate with lasagne. I need to keep the conversation going. Keep it light. Show him that I'm not a threat.

When he doesn't respond, I peek to find the spot he once occupied empty. Gasping audibly and searching desperately, I finally find him casually walking towards a table. No goodbye. No nice to meet you. Nothing.

I'm fucking shocked...and embarrassed...and furious!

"Salad?" A sickeningly sweet voice coos behind me. I turn just in time to see Lauren unload an obscene amount of salad greens onto my plate.

"Thank you," I drawl sarcastically, fighting the urge to fling the greens at either her or _him_.

I can't believe he just walked away in the middle of a perfectly civil conversation.

"Anytime." Her fake smile stretches wide mockingly.

I narrow my eyes at her threateningly.

"You're holding up the line," the old guy behind the lasagne tray informs me flatly.

"She's new, Billy," Lauren semi-defends me, and I'm momentarily touched, that is until she rolls her eyes.

"Don't care," the old grump comments dryly.

Clearly, he's not the only one.

xoxo

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**I hope you ladies are enjoying the read as much as I'm enjoying the writing! **

**With love,**

**Your Mistress**

**xoxo**

**Twitter account: (SaintsMistress)**

**Facebook account: TheSaintsMistress Nicos1**


	4. Insomnia

**A huge thanks to Painjane and adt216 for being my spelling and grammar fairies.**

**Thanks to JustPeachy00 for keeping me excited about this fic and for being a great partner in crime.**

**Thank you to all you lovely ladies for reading and reviewing and making this all worth it.**

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**Congratulations to FictionFreak95 – she will be posting the final chapter of her fantastic fic,_ Blind Spot_ tomorrow. If you're not reading it already – what are you waiting for? It's on my favourites if you need the link.**

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**For those who asked : Body of Work will only be in BPOV.**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.**

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**Summary: Bella Swan is a beautiful, spunky gossip columnist. Edward Cullen is an arrogant, hot New York socialite. When Edward is admitted into rehab, Bella will stop at nothing to get her story. On her journey to get the scoop, she will reveal things about Edward that makes her question her own intentions, as more than the truth gets uncovered.**

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**Hope you enjoy, girlies!**

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**Chapter-Three**

∞**Insomnia∞**

I can't sleep.

I'm on my back, staring blankly at the ceiling above. I've pushed my covers down until they're knotted and tied at the foot of the bed. It's too damn hot on this island.

My restlessness is not only due to the heat in this room, although I would really like to blame it all on Lauren. The truth is I'm too wired to close my eyes. I get to call Jasper today, and I simply cannot wait to speak to him about this fuckery.

Also, Edward's prickish behaviour is grating on my nerves, and I swear to all that is holy, if he wasn't a job I would call him out on it. Not to mention, now that I actually have to act like an alcoholic and not just an addict in general, the difficulty level of the task at hand has seriously increased.

After the incident with Edward, yesterday went by without me seeing him again. I can't say I minded. Really, I was still licking the wounds after his obvious dismissal. I ate lunch on my own—after having to gently decline little Mike's invitation to join his table—until Lauren got off serving duty and joined me. I got the distinct impression that she doesn't really have many friends here, that, or she's taking pity on me. Given her snarky comments and eye rolling, I'm leaning towards the first option.

Afterwards, we had an all female arts and crafts session, where I had to bead a fucking bracelet. One good thing was that all the women seemed nice enough, apart from Lauren, who was in the group with me beading a sparkling pink monstrosity of a necklace.

The same group had a seminar afterwards on how to deal with the pressures of being a woman in modern times. I tried my best to perfect the ability to sleep with my eyes open. Lauren's not so subtle jabbing confirmed that I failed.

I sat with her at dinner again, listlessly munching away on chicken and broccoli, trying to remember the taste of Toni's pepperoni pizza down the street from where I live. How easily the mind forgets.

Edward sat with Emmett, their table just as silent as ours from the sneak peeks I was able to get.

All in all, a day of humiliation on my part and absolutely no progress in my story whatsoever.

It was a depressing affair.

With a frustrated huff, I turn on my side and squint to see the time on the standard issue bedside clock.

It's just after five.

Knowing I won't be able to fall asleep again, I groggily push myself off the bed and head towards the bathroom.

After I've showered, I get dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. I'm rather enjoying the break from heels and skirts, although I've packed them just in case. I pull my hair into a high ponytail and tiptoe my way across the room, casting one final look in the direction of my roommate. She's still out cold.

I might just as well go exploring. The rules state in no uncertain terms that patients are not allowed to wander the facility aimlessly, and we are not allowed anywhere if it is not expressed in the binder or on our rosters. Luckily I'm still new, so if I get caught somewhere I'm not allowed to be, I'll just claim that I got lost.

The cool air-conditioned hallway makes me expel a sigh of relief. Trying to make as little sound as possible, even with the rubber on the soles of my chucks squeaking obnoxiously against the polished wood floors, I shimmy my way towards the staircase.

Instead of going down towards the dining hall and session rooms, I go up one level.

I reach a floor, similar to the one I live on and hesitate momentarily before making my way slowly down it. This has to be where the men sleep.

I find myself moving towards the window at the end of the quiet hallway. I could have done this on my own floor, but I want to see the view of the sun rising over the ocean, and since it's right there, I suppose there's no harm in looking.

I stop just short of the window, gasping at the sight before me. The sun is slowly pushing its way over the Atlantic, casting hues of bright golden heat, warming my skin through the glass panelling. It's nothing short of breathtaking.

Feeling energized by the view, I decide to explore once again. I'm required to help with the preparation and service of breakfast for the duration of my stay, but I still have more than enough time to get better acquainted with my current lodgings before heading down to the kitchen.

I'm mid-turn when the door beside me flies open. I gasp and lift a hand to my throat in surprise.

If the occupant is startled by the sight of a woman outside his room, he doesn't show it. He seems rather pleased, in fact, which is unsettling at best.

"Well if it isn't, Bella." Emmett's voice lilts teasingly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I—" I frantically search for words to explain, knowing my presence outside his room probably looks really, really bad.

"Did you come for a visit?" he drawls seductively which makes my skin crawl. I'm about to snarl something back when movement behind him catches my eye.

Stepping out of their shared bathroom in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, is a freshly showered, half-naked Edward Cullen.

I catch his side profile as me makes his way across the room, seemingly unaware of the fact that his bedroom door is open and there's a woman standing right outside it.

My eyes move without permission over his fine form, dripping wet hair causing water to trickle down shoulders, narrow waist tucked in a towel emphasizing his best asset and slung just low enough to show the deep indentation of the illustrious male V.

Edward Cullen may be a dick, but there is no denying that he is a damn hot one.

His fingers rake through his hair and then moves to his waist as he slightly twists his body further in my direction. I can feel myself leaning to the left, trying to catch the private striptease.

I sneak a quick glimpse of revealed skin.

Holy...

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

My head snaps to the right as a man dressed in all black approaches. I'm startled not only by his surprising presence, but by the fact that I was just about to ogle the naked body of a man right in front of an audience.

I turn my head back towards Emmett just as he softly starts to close his bedroom door, dimples poking into his cheeks as he gives me a 'you're on your own' look.

Turning back to my captor, I think I recall his face as of one of the night security personnel Lauren pointed out two nights ago.

"I'm sorry," I stutter. "I got lost." My excuse is not sounding nearly as convincing as I hoped it would.

His eyes flickers to the closed door where Emmett stood just a second ago, a suspicious frown pulling at his brows.

"Where did you want to be?" He sounds sceptical, but at least he's looking at me again.

"Kitchen," I manage with a tight smile, trying to act...lost.

"That would be behind the dining hall." His grey eyes are laughing at me. "You know? Where you've been eating all this time?"

I pull my shoulders up, plastering my best innocent smile on my face as I try to calm my heartbeat.

"I've been following my roommate around every day," I offer in explanation. I know it's lame and that he probably won't buy it, but I'm betting on the kindness I see in his eyes, hoping that he'll at least pretend to believe me.

He watches me contemplatively for a moment. Marcus's earlier words of 'repercussions' ring in my ears. I'm in no mood to find out exactly what those repercussions are, just yet.

"Follow me," he sighs heavily, clearly indicating that he's onto me, but obviously not in the mood to create a scene.

I smile thankfully and fall in step beside him.

"You're the alcoholic, right?" he asks as we approach the stairs.

I look up to find him smiling good-humouredly at me.

"Does everyone know about that?" I feign insult, cringing inwards. Stupid Lauren and her stupid pink beads.

"'Fraid so." He chuckles as I descend the stairs behind him. "Marcus said he did tell you when you went to see him."

"He probably did," I admit reluctantly, once again feeling like an idiot. "Guess I wasn't really paying attention."

"Caught off guard by the lip?"

I laugh in surprise at the unexpected joke as he gives me a playful wink once I've fallen into step beside him again.

"Yeah." I giggle.

We walk the short distance to the dining hall doors in companionable silence, my nerves settling and my mind focused on anything else but the tattoos splattered all over the left side of Edward's ribcage and hips.

"I'm Bella, by the way," I manage after a deliberate attempt to refocus.

"Caius, at your service." He fake-curtsies, which makes me chuckle again. He seems like a really nice guy. He looks to be in his late thirties, clean-shaven head with a build much the same as Emmett's.

He holds the door, and I step past him into the empty dining hall.

"You're a bit early, but Esme should be here already." He informs me as we walk towards another set of swinging doors behind the serving area.

"Who's Esme?"

"The chef. Nice broad." He smiles, and I find that I really do like him.

Just before we push through the doors, he comes to a halt, turning to face me fully. I stop too, staring up at him expectantly.

"Listen, Bella," he says seriously, which causes me to flinch slightly. His drawn expression is extremely unsettling.

"The rules around here are really strict." I nod as he speaks in a hushed tone. "The security is tight, and there are cameras everywhere." I swallow thickly. "I don't want you to get into any trouble. So, try not to 'get lost' again, okay?" He actually air quotes, and I feel my ears burn with embarrassment.

"I won't," I promise feebly, which earns me another of his wide smiles.

"Good." He nods, pushing the doors open. "Come on. Let's introduce you to Esme."

xoxo

Esme is nothing short of spectacular. Her round, pudgy figure, doughy fingers and tight grey bun streaked with shocks of red reminds me of Christmas in Forks—warm, cosy and familiar.

I feel like I could curl right up against her with a cup of cocoa and a book.

After she hands Caius a container filled with all things breakfast for the wife and kids, she shoos him away and turns to me with a wide smile.

"How refreshing to have a patient come down early."

I feel slightly guilty because it really wasn't my intention to be early for kitchen duty at all, but I shrug and go with it.

"Do you cook?" she continues as she starts to bustle around busily.

"Oh, not really," I admit sheepishly, eyes following her movements as she pulls out an industrial size casserole-type pan.

"You're going to learn real soon." She smiles over her shoulder and then points to an urn filled with boiling water. "Bring that over here, hon."

I nod and pull the urn over to the stove where she's turned it onto medium heat.

"You're making poached eggs today," she explains as she fills the pan with boiling water from the urn before placing it back on the stove.

I gnaw nervously on my bottom lip, frightened to death of the task at hand. I'm not an entirely bad cook, but I've never had to cook for more than four people at a time, and never anything more the mac and cheese.

Esme must notice my reluctance because, soon, her soft, little hand is patting my back as she speaks gently. "Come, I'll show you."

After one perfectly poached egg, which I made myself mind you, Esme places it on a piece of buttered toast and pushes it over to me with a wink.

"We'll need about fifty of those, sweetheart," she says before she shuffles off to one of the ovens.

I nod silently and lift the tempting looking toast to my mouth. I'm in heaven as I bite into the soft egg, sunshine yellow yolk threatening to trickle down my chin. Closing my eyes for a second to savour the delicious treat, I'm thinking that obviously I must be a culinary wunderkind.

Opening my eyes to take another bite, I'm met by disturbingly clear green eyes set in heavy, frowning brows.

Mouth agape, egg dangling precariously from the edge of my toast, I stare in mortification as Edward tilts his head slightly to the side, as if he's watching a chimpanzee display at the zoo.

"Hi," I mutter awkwardly before blinking and closing my mouth with a resound pop.

He frowns deeper and shakes his head before turning away from me and towards Esme. I'm once again caught off guard by his rudeness as I watch Esme pull him to her in a motherly hug.

Will his dick freeze off if he utters one proper greeting?

And then, I see it. Like a ghost ship appearing through thick mist rolling over the ocean. He smiles. Genuinely...and it's pretty...for a pompous asshole.

"You're just in time to get started on the bacon," Esme coos as she pulls away from him, her eyes bright and friendly.

"Show the way, Miss Esme," he responds in kind, and I'm startled by the soft sweetness in his voice.

She pulls him to the stove opposite mine, grabbing two skillets on the way over.

There goes my hope of finding sanctuary in this kitchen every morning.

Having lost my appetite, I lower my own toast to my plate and place it back on the table, keeping my eyes diverted from the enigma standing across from me.

"Have you started on the eggs yet, Bella?" Esme asks from beside Edward as she pulls some bacon from the fridge and hands it to him.

"I'm on it," I respond tightly, reaching for the tray.

"Call if you need any help."

"Will do," I mumble, breaking my first egg into a cup before gently slipping it into the boiling water.

I repeat this task over and over, lifting the done eggs from the pan with a slotted spoon, poking them gently with a teaspoon to check their firmness and then placing them on a sheet of kitchen paper to dry, just like Esme showed me.

The kitchen fills with two more patients, a girl I recognize from Arts and Crafts class and a man I haven't seen around before. The guy is given the task of toasting bread, and the girl, Leah, is setting the tables and getting the serving area ready.

I work silently and efficiently, stealing stealthy glances in Edward's direction. He's so focused on frying the damn bacon, to the point where it looks like he believes each flip of his spatula might save the fate of the world.

My mind wanders back to his tattoos I inadvertently saw earlier. The thought of those black marks on his golden skin has a fresh wave of irritation washing over me. What do they mean anyway? Do they symbolize their owner's belief that woman can't keep their hands off him? Could he really be that conceited?

Thinking of his actions, or lack thereof, over the last couple of days—the answer to that question is a resounding yes.

I chortle bitterly, startling Mr. Universe himself.

His head whips up to meet my contemptuous eyes. Not even a crack of a smile or a twist of emotion can be found on his face, and I'm pissed again.

"See something interesting?" I challenge before I can muzzle my trap.

He arches an eyebrow, lips turning downwards before his soft voice wafts over me. "Not in the least."

"Hey!" My voice screeches more than I would like it too. "What the hell have I done to offend you, anyway?"

His obnoxious snort interrupts my inner bitch.

"Great comeback, buddy," I mock lowly. "Pushing air through your nose."

We're at a bit of a standoff, gazes locked, lips pulled into grim lines when I finally sigh in exasperation and drop my gaze back to my pan.

"Whatever," I grumble, before focusing my attention on getting the eggs poached. I tilt the egg into the boiling water with far less finesse than required. Obviously it breaks. "Fuck."

"Everything going alright over here?" Esme's kind voice inquires behind me, and I feel like a little girl being reprimanded by her granny.

"I broke an egg." I can't sound more petulant and sulky even if I tried. I gaze up to find Edward staring at his frying bacon, one corner of his mouth pulled up slightly in a victorious smirk.

Douche.

"Far worse things can be broken, honey," Esme soothes with a chuckle. "These look fantastic, Bella," she says as she indicates to my finished work.

"Thank you." I smile proudly as she walks over to Edward, inspecting his fried bacon.

"A little on the crispy side, Edward."

I watch his sullen expression as he stares at the bacon Esme just tossed into the trash can.

"You'll get the hang of it," she encourages before placing the skillet back on the stove and walking off.

I deliberately snort loudly, which catches his Royal Highness's attention as intended. With a bright, fake smile especially for him, I grab the tray of finished eggs with a flourish, whip my ponytail over my shoulder and strut to the serving trays with my chin held high.

Edward Cullen can kiss my ass.

xoxo

"I'm not getting on that thing." I feel my feet digging into the ground as Lauren pulls me by the arm closer to the beast.

"Stop being such a little princess," she grounds out through clenched teeth, huffing at the exertion it's taking to haul my body closer to her target.

"You can't force me," I protest, feeling my knees wobble as we come to stand in front of what I'm sure will be the death of me.

"Wanna bet?" she snarks, placing her hands on her hips to take a deep breath.

"It's more afraid of you than you are of it," Sam, our instructor, comments behind me.

"It doesn't look afraid to me." I shake my head vehemently. Look, I might be a small-town girl, but I've lived in the city long enough to appreciate modern transportation. Like Meg Ryan said in _French Kiss_, I travel the way God intended people to travel—in a car.

"We're going to take it very slow, Bella." Sam is attempting encouragement, which I appreciate, even though it's completely useless. "Besides, you have to experience it on the beach." There is absolutely no amount of romance or adventure that is going to make me getting onto the back of a horse okay in any shape or form.

"How am I supposed to guide it without a steering wheel and brakes?" I'm on the verge of hysterics, staring at the mare, who's staring indifferently back at me.

"That's why you have stirrups, you baby." Ah, I can always count on Lauren's sweetness.

I allow myself to take in the other patients who have already mounted their elected horses, looking rather at ease with allowing an untamed animal to take them from point A to B.

Of course, Edward is one of those patients. And, of course, it looks like the horse is simply just another appendage of him, fitting perfectly to his lithe body.

I hate him so much right now.

Reluctantly, I allow Sam to help me onto the back of the horse. I wish I could say that it goes smoothly, but there is a lot of grunting and cursing involved as I awkwardly straddle the Palomino beneath me.

"Whoa, horsey," I coo uneasily as she shivers and whinnies restlessly.

And then, we're off. Luckily, Maria, my horse, knows the way as she gently starts to trot after the rest of the group.

I'm hopping awkwardly on her back as we make our way to the beach, my boobs juggling painfully against my chest. It would have been nice if someone told me a sports bra is required for these kinds of exercises.

Once we're on the soft sand, some of the more experienced riders take off, allowing their horses to run at break neck speed along the shoreline.

I can tell Maria is gearing up to go, but I'm pulling back on the reins with all the strength I have left in my hands and arms.

"Not so bad, is it?" Sam asks as his brown Arabian, as he calls it, moves in next to me.

My answer is a grunt, my attention to keeping Maria on the straight and narrow incapacitating my ability to respond verbally.

"Just keep her straight and don't pull on the reins too hard. It'll only hurt and irritate her," he warns.

I nod, loosening my grip minutely and allowing my gaze to lift from its fixed position on her neck.

I'm not even willing to acknowledge the fact that Edward is at the front of the group, riding his horse like a character out of an old Western movie.

"So, I hear you're from Forks?" Sam inquires casually.

"Yeah." I nod, finally able to allow myself to breathe a little easier, even though I can still feel the nervous tension in my neck and shoulders.

"I have friends that live on the reservation."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, only partly curious.

"Embry and Paul? Maybe you know them?"

"No." I smile at him sideways. "Sorry. I went to school in Forks. We didn't really get to mingle with the La Push kids a lot."

He smiles and shrugs and then we're silent again.

"So, what is it that you do?"

"Oh, um..." I clear my throat uncomfortably.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I don't mean to be intrusive. It's just that I've been in Forks, and it isn't actually a booming metropolis. And, knowing what a stint like this costs, I was just wondering..."

"Yeah, no, I understand," I interrupt him with a chuckle. "I'm a writer." In a way, I guess.

"Oh?" He seems surprised and excited for some reason. "Anything I've read?'

"Probably not." I shake my head. "I write mostly romance novels, you know?" My smile is a little forced. "Girly stuff."

"Oh." And now he sounds disappointed.

We remain mostly silent for the remainder of what feels like hours before we finally head back.

Sam steers his horse ahead, leaving me alone with Maria to face the small incline back to the stables. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement amongst the dense trees. I squint to get a better look, and there, in the midst of the tropical greenery stands a half-naked Emmett, pulling at the zipper of his jeans. A flash of blonde hair appears from the bushes behind him.

Rosalie?

I crane my neck to see a dishevelled looking Rosalie pull at the hem of her skirt.

What. The. Fuck?

Maria keeps on trotting, causing me to lose my view of them.

I 'park' my horse in confusion and wait for Sam to help me off the damn thing. The descent isn't much classier than the ascent as my ass pokes into the air, and I practically fall into his waiting arms.

"Easy does it." He chuckles behind me before setting me on my feet. I stumble slightly and grab onto the saddle to steady myself.

Sam steps away to help a few other riders, leaving me to compose myself and take a much needed breath.

I'm still pondering the possibility that Emmett and Rose were humping in the bushes when I notice Edward dismount his horse with elegant precision, landing firmly on his feet like a gracious cat.

He struts pass me with an air of lazy arrogance, and then very pointedly smirks in my direction, matching my earlier display in the kitchen quite nicely.

Touché, asshole. Touché.

xoxo

"I hate this place, Jasper."

"It's rehab, Bella. I didn't exactly expect you to want to put down roots." He chuckles on the other end.

"Yeah, I know," I admit with a huff. "It's just worse than I thought it would be."

"What? Aren't you making any friends?"

"If you can call my sadistic roommate a friend, then sure," I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes in honour of Lauren.

"And, Edward?" The million-dollar question.

"He hates me," I grumble, toying with a strand of my hair.

"I'm sure he hates everyone," Jasper attempts to comfort me.

"I suppose you're right." I sigh heavily, remembering the way he treated Lauren on my first day.

My first day that was only two nights ago. It feels like I've already been here a lifetime.

"Do we know what he's in for, yet?"

I laugh bitterly at his question. "Nope. Apparently Volturi has a non disclosure policy. In other words, you don't have to divulge your addiction in group."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, tell me about it." I chuckle. "Guess who outed herself as an alcoholic in front of everyone?"

"Oh, Bella." His laugh makes me feel minutely better and extremely homesick. "Tell me you didn't."

"'Fraid I can't." I shake my head regretfully.

"I'm sorry, babe. We should have sent you in better prepared." He actually sounds remorseful which I appreciate to some degree.

"I think there are a lot of things in here you wouldn't have been able to prepare me for, so don't sweat it."

"What's your plan then, Bells?" He's definitely concerned, and I can tell he wants to push, but is apprehensive to do so.

"I don't know, Jazz. I mean, it's like the island air has turned me into a total spaz."

"You step out of New York for two minutes and you lose your cool? That's not the Bella Swan I know," he teases good-naturedly, trying to lift my spirits. It would have worked if I wasn't acutely aware of how much he'd lose if I don't succeed. This is not my friend speaking. It's my boss.

"You told me to be the Bella I was when I first stepped into your office. Well, mission accomplished." I never imagined it would be possible for me to transform back into the fumbling, awkward teenager I was when I left Forks. Well, the jokes on me, I guess.

"I was referring to the sweetness, not the rest."

"Yeah well, you've got the whole package regardless." I know I'm sounding pretty sorry for myself, but I'm out of my comfort zone. I have no idea how to get my mojo back.

"Listen, Bells." I can tell one of Jasper's renowned pep talks is about to ensue. "You're there because you're the best in the business. So, you've had a few hiccups, just get back on the horse and do your thing, honey."

"So not funny," I scold him for making fun of my earlier horseback riding adventure.

"It's a little funny."

"Maybe a little," I concede with a small giggle, feeling my spirits rise ever so slightly.

"Look, no one said it was going to be easy." I nod even though he can't see me. "But I have faith in you. Now, you have some faith in yourself too, and Edward Cullen won't stand a chance."

"Okay," I answer softly.

"You know you can leave whenever you want to, right? I won't force you to stay Bella, no matter how badly I want this story." Now _this _is my friend speaking.

"I know." I smile into the receiver. "I'm not ready to give up, just yet."

"That's my girl." I can tell he's grinning too which makes me smile a little wider.

"He might not like me, but at least I've gotten him to acknowledge my existence." It's a step, whether it's forward or backwards remains to be seen.

"It's a step in the right direction," Jasper echoes my internal thoughts.

"Hey?" I ask, remembering to ask something I've thought about earlier today. "Have you told my parents where I am?"

"I have." I sigh a breath of relief. "They weren't all too impressed."

"I can imagine," I grumble, knowing that my parents don't exactly approve of my current job. Can't say I blame them. When I left Washington for New York, I was set on pursuing a serious journalism career. They're still holding onto that hope, whereas I've found myself giving up on that dream more and more with each passing year.

"They'll come around as they always do."

"Yeah."

Everyone comes around eventually.

Edward will be no different.

I hope.

xoxo

"My whole body hurts," I complain as I fall onto the bed like a sack of potatoes after taking a long shower.

"Given the star quality you showed on that horse today, I'm not surprised," Lauren drawls lazily from her own bed.

I can't help but chuckle, because in all honesty, I can only imagine how comical it must have looked. I feel a lot lighter and far more determined after I finished my conversation with Jasper. I'm way too lost in my head over this whole thing. I need to roll with the punches and get my shit together. It's what I do...and it's time I start doing it better.

"You were rather impressive, though. Do you have horses back home?" I ask, turning to my side with a groan to watch her as she writes in her sparkly pink journal.

"Don't all rich people have horses?"

I shrug.

"Aren't you rich?" She raises her head from her journal to watch me sceptically.

"Not really."

"Huh," is all she says before she turns her attention back to her writing. "Shouldn't really be surprised given the way you dress."

Always so full of compliments, this girl.

But maybe she has a point. Maybe I should be more conscious of what I'm wearing. I mean, Edward is rich. If it matters to Lauren, then maybe the way I dress matters to Edward too. As far as I can tell, they're both equally conceited—Edward maybe even more so.

And then, a plan begins to form, and before long a smile is there to follow it.

I've been told I've got game.

Maybe it's time I start playing...

xoxo

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**Visual for this chapter - Edward's tattoo - will be posted on my Twitter account. (SaintsMistress) I'll also post the link on my ffnet profile. (NSFW!)**

**Fic recommendation:**

**In the Waves by Jadalulu – trust me, you're gonna wanna read it.**

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**Hope you're enjoying the ride so far, lovely girls.**

**With love...**

**Your Mistress**

**xoxo**


	5. Hallucinations

**A huge thank you to Adt216 and PainJane for editing this nightmare. **

**To the ever so lovely JustPeachy00 for pre-reading and for being such a supportive friend. You're the sweetest peach out there!**

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**BoW was nominated for fic of the week on TLS last week. I just want to thank each and everyone who voted for it! You make this experience so much fun!**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing and for just being the best group of girls an author can ask for! **

**Some of you are a bit frustrated with Bella, and kinda despise her job in general. Lol! Trust girls! I won't let you down, I promise.**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.**

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**Summary: Bella Swan is a beautiful, spunky gossip columnist. Edward Cullen is an arrogant, hot New York socialite. When Edward is admitted into rehab, Bella will stop at nothing to get her story. On her journey to get the scoop, she will reveal things about Edward that makes her question her own intentions, as more than the truth gets uncovered.**

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**Chapter Four**

∞**Hallucinations∞**

"Where's Edward?" I ask nonchalantly, attempting to stealthily search out my nemesis. He's definitely late, which means he might get acquainted with Volturi's promised 'repercussions.' I'm secretly pleased at the prospect. It might teach him some manners...who knows?

"He's been assigned to a different chore," Esme replies softly as we fold the chopped peaches into our dough. We're making what she calls 'Grannies Breakfast Peach Bread.'

"They do that?" I'm trying really hard to hide my disappointment. On the one hand, I'm enjoying the comfort Esme's kitchen supplies with him not being here. The shitty part is that I got dressed up and everything—ready to bring him to his knees.

"If the patient requests it, sure." She shrugs.

He requested to be moved?

Fuck.

After yesterday morning's tiff between Edward and me, I realized that the kitchen might just be the place where I actually get to crack the proverbial nut.

And now, he's up and left—no doubt because of me.

We pull out the first loaves of bread. I step past Esme and insert the next batch for baking as she places the hot ones on the counter for cooling.

"You really have a knack for cooking, Bella." She smiles proudly as we stand back to survey our work. The little loaves are golden brown and smell delicious, and I can feel my mouth salivating.

I smile my thanks and proceed to mix the dry ingredients for our next batch.

"If you're interested, I could teach you more," she encourages with a bright smile.

"I'd love that," I answer honestly. I would have never guessed cooking would be so...therapeutic. And I appear to be a natural in the kitchen, which is surprising to say the least. I always thought that writing is the only thing I really excel in.

"Great." The excitement in her voice makes me smile wider as I start cutting more peaches. "Here, let me do that."

I relinquish the knife to Esme and move to whisk the yogurt, egg, oil and vanilla together.

"I'll make the suggestion to Marcus," she continues. "Which duties have they signed you up for over the weekends?"

"I have to clean stables," I grumble.

"Not a fan of horses, I assume?" She giggles as I make a rather unattractive face. "Don't like them either." She nods. "They're dangerous in the front and back, and tricky in the middle."

"Exactly," I chuckle.

I am not excited about the prospect of shovelling horse shit for two hours.

"I know Lauren doesn't particularly like working in the kitchen. I could ask her whether she would like to trade with you."

"Uh," I sigh heavily. "I'm not sure she'll be willing. She loves to make my life hell, for some reason or another.

"Isn't she your roommate?" Esme quirks a curious brow.

"Yeah, although she's more like a very annoying older sister." I grimace and add the wet ingredients to the dry.

"Lauren can be a bit..." She bites her bottom lip contemplatively. "Forceful."

"Ha!" I bark sarcastically and then smile sheepishly at my rude outburst.

We work silently before Esme speaks again.

"Did you know," she starts, tossing a handful of peaches into my mixing bowl, "peaches get ripe with age, but they never get sweeter?"

I shake my head, not entirely sure what she means.

"A peach can only get sweeter while it's still attached to the tree. Once you've plucked them, they'll get riper or softer, but they're unable to get sweeter."

I nod, acknowledging that I'm still listening as we mix the peaches and dough together.

"So, if you buy peaches from the store and some of them taste like nothing, it's because the farmer impatiently harvested them before giving them time on the tree to sweeten properly."

"So, what you're saying is that all peaches have the potential to be sweet?" I'm thinking I'm making the right choice to have Marcus schedule me to the kitchen over weekends too. At this rate, I could release a cookbook once I leave here. I can see the title already: _Rehabilitate Your Cooking_.

"If they're left on the tree long enough, yes."

We fill the pans and place them in another oven to bake. Once we close the oven doors, Esme turns to me with a motherly smile.

"People are a lot like peaches, Bella."

Okay, now I've lost her.

"Some of us are plucked too early, asked to grow up too soon; and even though we're left to ripen, grow older, we never have the ability or opportunity to get any sweeter." I nod, encouraging her to continue with her fruity metaphor.

"Some of those unsweetened peaches end up here." She cuts a slice from one of the cooled peach breads and offers me a piece.

It's delicious—savoury and sweet with just a hint of cinnamon. It's the best peach, _anything,_ I've ever tasted.

"We add ingredients to them, tools you could say, that could change and form them into something else. Something better, like this." She points to the bread with a satisfied smile.

I see where she's going with this.

"Lauren, like most of the patients here, had to grow up really fast. Too soon."

I smile because I never thought I'd ever hear someone indirectly call Lauren a peach. A bitch? Yes. Challenging? Definitely. But a peach? Never in a million years.

"She'll agree to the swop." Esme changes gears on me with a confident smile.

"If you say so."

xoxo

"Thank you, Bella." Mike smiles shyly as I tilt a spoon of scrambled eggs into his plate.

I raise my eyes to give him a smile, but my lips pull into a disapproving line when I spot that his gaze is fixed on my breasts.

I know the knee length sundress makes my boobs look good, that's why I chose to wear it today along with a pair of my favourite Louboutin heels and canary-yellow boy shorts I found in my suitcase. Once I read the inscription on the back, I knew Tanya and Irina must have sneaked them in when I wasn't looking.

I don't generally make a habit of wearing panties that have _I love Lesbians _printed on the back.

I have to reluctantly admit that they're extremely comfortable, and seeing as I'm getting more and more homesick with each passing day, wearing the ridiculous underwear makes me feel like I have my girls here with me to...uh...support me...pun intended.

"My eyes are up here, Mike." I point at my face.

"Yeah." He nods, glancing up quickly before fixing his gaze back on my chest. "But your tits are down there."

"Smooth, Mike." I hear Emmett's booming laugh as he steps in beside him. I roll my eyes and notice that Edward has joined the cue behind Emmett, plate in hand, eyes downcast.

My heartbeat accelerates slightly at the sight of him.

"Marcus and I are working on improving my communication skills with the opposite sex." Mike smiles proudly, leering at my breasts.

I fight the urge to cover myself. My mother always told me, if you don't like men looking, then you shouldn't be encouraging them by flaunting what you have. I'm definitely flaunting it today, although I really wanted a certain someone, who has yet to lift his eyes from his plate, to notice.

Mike is merely collateral damage.

"I think it still needs some work." I snort with a shake of my head and indicate for Mike to move on.

He reluctantly moves towards Leah, who is serving sausages beside me, but not without a not-so-subtle lick of his lips.

Perv.

"Looking good, Miss Dwyer." It takes me a moment to realize Emmett is talking to me. I drop a load of eggs on his plate unceremoniously. "Going somewhere?"

"Hot date with my therapist." I smirk sarcastically.

"I'm jealous." He pouts. "Marcus is such a lucky bastard."

"Oh, I think you're all set." I glance pointedly at Rosalie, seated behind him.

He turns to look and then laughs boisterously as his gaze settles on mine again.

"Perceptive little thing, aren't you?"

"I have eyes."

He gives my breasts a good long stare. "Haven't noticed."

"You're a sex addict, aren't you?" I groan loudly.

"Is it that obvious?" he asks with a wide grin, eyebrows waggling before he moves on.

I scoop up some eggs with a frown and lift the spoon to Edward's plate. His eyes remain downcast, unwilling to meet mine.

"Morning," I sigh, knowing that he won't return the greeting and will most probably ignore my presence.

He doesn't even look at me as he steps past me. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower he must have taken this morning, and I can smell soap and clean man. It's very appetizing.

I'm about to turn my attention to the woman behind Edward when I hear a soft "hi."

My lips part as I stare after him, mouth agape.

Did Edward_-I-smell-good-enough-to-lick-_Cullen just greet me back?

I drop my gaze to my chest and grin triumphantly.

There is still some hope.

xoxo

"Tell me about your parents, Bella."

"They're nice people. Good people."

"Are they still married to each other?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Twenty-five years."

"You're twenty-six, right?"

"They got married because Renee was pregnant with me."

"Is Renee your mother?"

"Yes."

"What does she do for a living?"

"She's a florist."

"And your father?"

"He's the chief of Police."

"That must be difficult."

"What?"

"To live up to his expectations. He's an upstanding man in the community, a model citizen."

"When you put it that way, sure."

"Do you think your addiction might have something to do with that?"

"With wanting to live up to my father's expectations of me?"

"Yes."

"No. It's not his fault."

"I'm not trying to place blame, Bella."

"My dad wants what's best for me, Dr. Covina. Whatever good there is in me, my work ethic, my loyalty, my determination, I got from him."

"What did you get from your mother?"

"Apart from her eyes?"

"Yes, apart from that."

"I'm not really sure."

"Interesting."

xoxo

We're all standing outside, waiting for Jane to make an appearance. After my exhausting session with Marcus, I made my way towards my group session only to be informed by Mike that Jane wants us to meet her outside.

Speaking to Marcus went a lot better that I initially expected it to. He asked me about my parents, questions I could easily answer, apart from one. I was surprised to find that I couldn't answer him when he asked what qualities I inherited from my mother. We have a great relationship. We get along almost too well for a mother and daughter, our dynamic resembling that of friendship instead.

I stand alone to the side of the group as some patients steal a moment for a quick smoke and others talk softly amongst themselves.

I'm trying not to pay attention to Edward who appears to be munching quietly on a candy bar. Fucker makes eating chocolate look like porn. Then again, with looks like his, I hardly doubt that there's anything he could do that wouldn't look hot. I stop my imagination from creating images of Edward in the throes of passion. I don't need to preoccupy my mind with thoughts like that. Marcus's questions have my mind on overload as it is.

"Hey everyone," Jane greets warmly as she steps out of Volturi's front door and onto the porch where we're waiting. "I know this is a little unorthodox, but it's such a lovely day outside. I thought we could all use some fresh air."

We all huddle closer as she beckons us with a quick flick of her hand.

"Today we're going to do an exercise in pairs." Unimpressed grumbles emanate from the group. "I'll be selecting your partner," she continues, unhindered by our lack of enthusiasm. "I want you to face one another and then take turns to tell each other what you find physically appealing about that person."

I feel my chest constrict anxiously.

_Please don't let it be Emmett._ _Please don't let it be Emmett, _I chant softly.

My gaze catches Mike's hopeful expression.

Scratch that.

_Please don't let it be Mike._

Jane starts calling pairs, and I sigh a breath of relief when she pairs Mike with someone else and Emmett, rather ironically, with Rosalie. I'm sure those two won't have any trouble with this exercise.

"Bella Dwyer and Edward Cullen."

_Yes!_ I couldn't have scripted this better even if I wanted to.

I find Edward amongst the group, and by the tension set in his jaw, I can only assume he's not too happy about this.

Tough shit.

"Okay." Jane claps her hands, something I've noticed she does a lot. "Pair off."

Edward walks off without acknowledging me, leaving me no choice but to follow him. I do so, silently irritated.

Once we've reached a spot below some trees, a little distance away from the rest of the group, he turns to face me.

Yep, he's definitely not happy about this.

"Do you want to start?" I ask pleasantly, trying to summon courage. I'm not entirely thrilled about the prospect of boosting his ego even more with this exercise, but it's an opportunity to speak to him—to get to know him. Best of all, he has no choice but to cooperate.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and then gives my body a slow, torturous once over. I shiver involuntarily as his dark gaze sweeps over my legs, then my hips, my chest, neck and finally settles on a spot just over my right shoulder. It's not a hot look that would inspire dirty thoughts at all. It's clinical, like he's trying really hard to find anything he might find physically appealing about me.

I'm tempted to ask whether he would like me to spread my legs for a fucking pap smear.

I place my hand on my hip with a huff and stare at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Give me a moment," he replies with absolutely no inflection in his voice.

I'm about to tell him to go fuck himself when he speaks again.

"I like the colour of your hair."

I'm stunned.

The colour of my hair? That's it? That's all he can come up with.

I look hot today. Emmett and Mike confirmed this. Lauren even raised an eyebrow at me this morning, mumbling a 'not rich my ass' on her way to the bathroom. I have more than my fair share of possible suitors, all too willing to tell me what a nice figure I have. I'm not claiming to be Miss World here, but shit, I'm no _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ either.

"I like the colour of your hair, too." I smile sweetly. "It's my favourite shade of baby poo."

His eyes snap to mine in surprise, and I'm pleased to see the skin around them tighten slightly.

"You have beautiful skin," he continues evenly. "Which is surprising for a broad your age."

"How old do you think I am?" I take the bait, ignoring the little flutter caused by his non-compliment.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"Screw you," I huff indignantly. "I'm only twenty-six."

"Oh," he feigns remorse. "Then scratch that. You have all right skin."

I know he's only giving as good as he gets, but I'm two seconds away from scratching his eyes out.

"I like your shoulders," I sneer. "They're nice and broad to accommodate that big head of yours."

"You have great tits." He doesn't miss a beat as he steps closer challengingly, eyes narrowing minutely. "They make up for the lack of an ass."

"Good thing you have amazing hands, they must prove vital to compensate for your other shortcomings." I eye his denim covered crotch pointedly, before tilting my head back to meet his gaze steadily.

He's practically fuming, and for a moment, I consider the possibility that steam might erupt from his ears.

"You're mouth is distractingly hot, too damn bad you can't keep it shut."

"Do you find me distracting, then?" I fire back, quirking an eyebrow saucily.

"Enough to want to wrap your legs around my waist and show you what my 'hands' can do."

...

...

...

HOO. LEE. SHIT.

My breathing stutters; his eyes blaze. We fall completely and utterly silent, and I don't know if I want to run away screaming, or jump him to test his theory. Never in a million years would I ever have imagined that I would hear those words from his lips...directed at _me _nonetheless!

"Emmett and Rose!" I practically jump at Jane's unexpected outburst, stepping away from him on shaky legs. "I said _tell _each other what you find physically appealing, not _show _each other!"

Emmett pulls his hands off Rosalie's breasts, offering Jane a guilty smile. Rosalie merely shrugs and straightens out her shirt.

Under normal circumstances, I would be laughing at them, but I can't find anything funny after what Edward just said. I glance at him only to find him staring at his feet, his jaw once again clenched, hands balled into fists at his side.

"Okay," Jane calls out to everyone. "Now I want you to look at the person in front of you, and tell them what you find unattractive about their physical appearance."

All the fight has left me with Edward's rather unexpected declaration. His shoulders sag in defeat before he raises his head and take a deep breath.

"Why don't you start this time?" he mumbles tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands.

"Your...um..." I trail off uncomfortably. There really isn't much about Edward's appearance that isn't damn near perfect and I'm still fixated on what just happened between us. "I guess your nose is a little crooked?" I ask lamely.

He nods in acceptance.

"You're ears are a bit pointy."

"Yeah," I agree softly. They are. I release a pent up breath and try to relax my stance, shifting from the one foot to the other.

"Your teeth aren't perfectly straight." It really feels like I'm nitpicking at this stage. His teeth are great.

He smiles, but only barely. Maybe there is a real person hiding behind his various masks.

"You're kinda pale." His assessment is quiet, thoughtful.

"I get that from my mother," I explain unnecessarily, and for a brief moment, I'm reminded of my earlier discussion with Marcus. Why is it that I can pinpoint every physical attribute I got from my mother, but nothing in the personality department?

And that's it. I've got nothing, and it would appear as if Edward is at a loss too.

Can this get any more awkward?

"Okay, everyone," Jane thankfully interrupts, "let's move this back inside."

I offer Edward a tentative smile and turn before I can see whether he's willing to return it.

Navigating your way on grass in heels is a challenge in general. Add that to the fact that my clumsiness rears its ugly head every once in a while and you have a disaster waiting to happen.

No need to wait too long, though.

My heel catches and before I can correct myself, I fall forward, landing ungraciously on my hands and knees.

My dress lifts at the back. I can tell because there's a pleasant see breeze tickling my once covered thighs.

"Shit," I murmur, pushing back onto my knees and reaching behind me to lower my skirt.

I hear Edward chuckling before I even have the chance to collect myself.

"Asshole," I growl as I stand up, wiping mud and grass from my knees and palms. They sting slightly, but not as much as my ego.

He doesn't seem to notice my mortification at all, his whole body shaking with rambunctious laughter.

My cheeks are flaming with anger as I flip him the bird and then stomp off. His laughter follows me all the way into the building.

What kind of a douche bag laughs at a woman when she falls and doesn't even offer to help her up?

Deep down I'm disappointed in myself for thinking, for only a brief second, that there might be more to Edward than just a story.

xoxo

I'm seated across from Lauren in the dining hall, munching listlessly on dinner. After we went back into the session room, Jane discussed our exercise, quickly coming to the conclusion that it's far easier for people to believe the bad stuff about themselves than the good.

She was absolutely right, too. When it came to pointing out each other's flaws, both Edward and I were far quicker to concede to the other's findings.

We discussed societies influence on our body image and the way it translates into our day to day life. We were also given homework assignments. We have to write down three things we don't like about our personalities and hand then in at the next group session for discussion.

"Thank you for trading your kitchen duties with my stable chores this weekend," I mumble quietly.

Lauren shrugs in reply before stuffing a forkful of rice into her mouth.

"I don't mind," she says after she chews and swallows. "Edward is on stable duty during the weekends." She casts a glance in his direction, the appreciation in her eyes rather evident.

Shit, I unknowingly cheated myself out of another opportunity to spend more time with him.

"Can you imagine that delicious specimen of a man sweating and bending over, being all manly and what not?"

I can, but I refuse to, so I simply shrug. It would be best for me and my job to not think of Edward in a sexual light, or to even dwell on his words during our exercise.

"_Enough to want to wrap your legs around my waist and show you what my 'hands' can do."_

My insides twist at the memory and I wrap an arm around my waist with a soft groan. No one has ever said anything so...provocatively sexy...to me.

"Hot," Lauren mouths slowly, rolling her eyes into the back of her head.

She has no idea.

When I don't respond verbally, she eyes me suspiciously and then adds squarely.

"You should definitely add grumpy and solemn to your list of withdrawals."

"I'm not grumpy and solemn," I sulk, contradicting myself instantly.

"You are." She points an accusing finger at me. "Not to mention irritable and sweaty."

"It's hot on this island!" I exclaim in my own defence.

"Whatever." She rolls her eyes, and then continues eating.

Well, I might not be very successful in my pursuit of Edward, but at least I seem to be a convincing recovering alcoholic.

Goodie.

xoxo

It's just after nine o'clock, and I find myself wandering over to the TV room. I need a time out. A normal human moment to collect my thoughts and consider my next move.

I've been running various scenes of the day through my mind, Esme's words about peaches and Lauren, Marcus's assumptions and questions about my relationship with my mother, Edward's moment of unguarded lust and then, my embarrassing fall.

All in all, I've come to the conclusion that maybe, I overreacted a little. I'm sure the whole scene must have been rather hilarious, and if I were in his shoes, I may have laughed too. It doesn't excuse his behaviour; I mean seriously, he could have at least pretended to want to help me up. But regardless, this is not a normal situation. The whole point of this is to become Edward's ally, not his enemy. So, if that means he gets to laugh at me at inappropriate times, I'll just have to suck it up and laugh with him.

I walk into the silent TV room. The lights are off and the television transmits blue and red flashes against the stark white wall as the characters of_ Seinfeld_ moves about. I scan the room and find only one occupant...Edward.

This might be as good an opportunity as any to show him that I'm not upset about this afternoon, and to get shed the lingering awkwardness of our, not so innocent, exchange.

Kramer just accused Jerry of being an 'anti-dentite,' someone who discriminates against dentists, when Edward's head jerks in my direction and his gaze freezes on mine. The first thing I notice is that his eyes are skittish, reflecting his obvious desire to flee.

I don't want to put him out, so I raise a hand to stop him as he moves to get up.

"You don't have to leave on my account," I say softly.

He eyes me warily, hand raking through his hair, and now I understand the reasons for its obvious disarray.

"I was planning on heading to bed anyway," he offers gently, pushing up from the couch and shuffling towards me silently.

He looks tired, dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and his sleep pants. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if he's as snuggley and warm to curl up against as he looks. I also may or may not notice that his hips really do appear to be perfect for my legs to wrap around. If ever asked outright, I will categorically deny my secret observation.

"You're going to miss the best part." I indicate to the television, frantically trying to coax him into staying.

"I've seen it a million times before." He shrugs as he walks past me, eyes focused on his bare feet.

I grind my teeth, desperately searching my mind for any convincing excuse to make him stick around longer.

"I love them too."

The words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I consider the possibility that I might be going mad in this place.

I turn towards him slowly, my face the picture of shock and surprise. This is the first time Edward has ever initiated conversation, and to say I'm mildly stunned would be an understatement.

"Seinfeld?" I tilt my head to the side, brow furrowing in confusion when I see the slight smile at the corners of his lips.

"No." He chuckles softly, reminding me of earlier today when he was laughing at my expense, but this time, I don't want to knock his teeth out. "Lesbians."

"Sorry?" I'm sure I must have heard him wrong.

"I love lesbians too." His eyes are alight with mirth as my brain struggles to catch up with his teasing tone.

And then it does.

He saw my panties.

My _I Love Lesbians _panties.

"That's why I laughed."

He wasn't laughing at the fact that I fell.

He was laughing at my underwear.

My _I Love Lesbians _underwear.

Mortification settles in, then peaks with a healthy dose of agitation at my two friends for sneaking those panties into my suitcase, before it ever so gently morphs into trepidation.

"I'm not gay," I blurt out loudly, eyes pleading my case urgently.

"None of my business." He shrugs, seemingly unconvinced by my protest.

Ouch.

Well, that's just great, isn't it?

Now Edward Cullen thinks I'm gay.

I need a drink.

xoxo

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**I would love to hear what you think, lovely girls! I'm flying blind without your thoughts.**

**Visuals for this chapter: See my facebook page (TheSaintsMistress Nicos) or my Twitter Page (SaintsMistress) to catch a glimpse of Bella's underwear. Tiehiehie**

**Also, congratulations to Edmazin (it was her birthday yesterday). Hope you had a good one, sweetie!**

**With love...**

**Your Mistress**

**xoxo**


	6. Restlessness

**Hallo there everyone!**

**So, here's the next update which I truly hope you enjoy! We're getting there, slowly but surely.**

**Thank you all for your love and support, it means the world to me! I was a total fail on replying to your lovely reviews on the last chapter-please forgive me!**

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**A huge thank you to Adt216 and PainJane for casting their magic spell all over my spelling and grammar mistakes. It's a blessing to have you ladies on my team!**

**A shout out to the ever so lovely and sweet JustPeachy00, who keeps me smiling, even when I don't feel like it.**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.**

* * *

**Here we go...**

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**Chapter Five**

∞**Restlessness∞**

"You have to push it harder!" I complain, muscles straining painfully.

"I can't! It's heavy!" She grunts and groans and pushes and shoves, but to no avail.

"Put some muscle into it!" Sweat is dripping down my temples, my back and, unfortunately, into my butt crack.

"We can't all be built like men!" I feel my face flush in embarrassment. It's bad enough that, at least, one patient in this facility thinks I'm gay, but to hear that I'm built like a man, from a completely different source, hurts like a bitch.

"It's called working out," I defend with a grumble.

She stares at me blankly.

"You know? Regular exercise?"

Still nothing.

"Lauren," I warn lowly. My patience is running thin as my arms support most of the wooden slab's weight.

"Sorry." She shrugs. "You lost me at work."

"Jeez, you're spoiled." I sigh heavily and loosen some of my grip. The slab tumbles out of her hands, followed by a string of colourful expletives.

"My nail!" she wails, clutching her left hand to her chest like a wounded soldier.

"Oh, come one." I lower my end of the puzzle piece and place my hands on my hips. "We're not stopping because you broke a nail."

Her chin quivers.

"You're the one that wanted to win this." I point an accusing finger at her. It's true. I had no interest in winning this stupid team building exercise, but Lauren practically pleaded with me. Being the sucker I am, and seeing as I've never seen her excited about _anything_, I conceded.

I scan the grounds of Volturi's backyard. The rest of the teams are having just as much difficulty, but there is one that is in a commanding lead. Edward and Emmett.

Dammit.

"Let's just get this puzzle piece in the slot," I try a different tactic. "Then we only have one more activity left."

"Do you think we can still win," she whines, scanning the same area I just did.

"If we hurry up with this one, then sure, there's still a chance." There's no chance in hell. Edward and Emmett are already heading to the last activity, but we didn't get this far to give up now.

She pushes out her bottom lip in a pout and droops her lashes in an obvious attempt to play on my feelings.

"No." I shake my head vehemently. "Forget about it."

"But you're so strong," she coos sweetly, batting her eyelashes as if that will make any difference.

"I don't have a penis, you're attempts are futile," I huff indignantly.

"You know, and I know, you can do this by yourself."

"I'm not picking this damn thing up by myself, Lauren," I scold angrily. "Over my dead body."

...

...

...

_Damn, this thing is heavy. _I grunt and complain menacingly as I lift the puzzle _by myself_ and finally push it into its slot.

"Fucking-a!" Lauren shouts happily, throwing her right hand in the air as her left, where one perfectly manicured nail is hanging by a thread, remains clutched to her chest.

"You fucking owe me!" I shout without sparing her a glance and make a beeline for the last obstacle.

My back is killing me, my arms feel like strings of spaghetti, and my chest burns from exertion.

I hate her so much right now.

We reach it at the same time as a couple of other teams. We all make a grab for the instructions and start reading.

"You and your teammate must link your arms together," I read out loud for Lauren to hear, still fighting to catch my breath. "Your bodies must at all times be in contact with the water as you make your way through the dam from one point to the other."

I scan the murky depths and notice that Edward and Emmett are already halfway through. Only their heads and shoulders are visible above the water, which means, it's deep in places. I eye Lauren's height in comparison to my own. If we were allowed to swim through it without staying connected to each other, there may have still been a chance to win, but given our height, there's just no way.

The rest of the teams wade into the dam, struggling to stay upright and linked to each other.

"Let's go," I sigh defeated.

"Wait." Lauren stops me by pulling at my arm. "They say our bodies must at all time be in contact with the water, right?"

"Yes," I draw the word out suspiciously.

"They didn't say our whole body or which parts, right?"

"No," I sigh impatiently.

"I have a plan." She smiles victoriously. "And we're going to win."

...

...

...

"Just a little further," I coax, pulling a panting and heaving Lauren behind me.

We're running at the edge of the water, our feet submerged.

Lauren is a fucking genius.

I turn to wave sweetly at Edward and Emmett as we pass them on the shore. They look at us in surprise before realization dawns. Emmett throws his head back and laughs boisterously as Edward throws his hands in the air, effectively breaking his link with Emmett.

I snicker triumphantly as the rest of the teams, all ears deep in water, moan and complain.

The instructions did not say how deep our bodies have to be in the water, only that they have to be in contact with it.

Once again...

Lauren is a fucking genius.

The staff members who include Jane, Marcus and Esme are clapping wildly as Lauren and I reach the finish mark.

I bend over and rest my hands on my knees, gasping for breath.

"Well done, you two!" Jane congratulates us with a tap on the back. "Very nicely done."

I stand to find a hyperventilating, yet extremely pleased, Lauren beside me. Her face is red, her hair out of place, and sweat is running down her neck. This is the least composed I've ever seen my roommate, and probably the happiest. It's enough to make me forgive her for letting me carry that damn puzzle piece on my own.

I smile and hi-five her 'uninjured' hand. "It was all Lauren." She looks positively elated.

Edward and Emmett stumble in behind us, chests heaving as they clutch at their sides.

I may or may not steal a glance at Edward's perfectly toned physique in his dripping wet clothes as he runs his hands through his hair. The way his clothes are clinging to his body really doesn't leave much to the imagination. And I have a very, very active imagination.

He's a beautiful asshole.

I may be staring at the way the soft, grey cotton t-shirt appears to be painted to the lines of his chest and abs, or the rivets of water trailing tempting lines down the bronze skin of his defined arms. He's not even attempting to look in my direction, which suits me just fine as it allows for a little more ogle time. I may not like him, but I can appreciate a good looking, wet man when I see one. My blatant staring is, however, cut short when Emmett slaps my back heartily, hard enough to almost make me tumble over.

"Well done, Bella Dwyer," he declares jovially, as I correct my stance and cast him an irritable glare.

"Didn't your mother teach you it's not okay to hit a woman?" I huff. It actually stings where his palm met my back.

"The way you were making mince meat of the course back there, you may just as well have been a dude." I understand that he's trying to pay me a compliment, and usually, I would be eager and willing to accept it as such. But in this instance, with Edward's already warped view of my sexuality, I'm tempted to kick him in the balls.

"Physical activity is a very good way to burn some of the frustration your withdrawals cause," Marcus's top lip pipes in.

"She must be really fucking frustrated then. You should have seen her at the puzzle! She's as strong as a horse, this one."

And...thank you, Lauren.

I cast a desperate look in Edward's direction. He's smirking at his feet. Awesome.

It's fine being mistaken as a lesbian—especially in these circumstances, where it might actually work to my advantage with him. But, to be depicted as a butch lesbian...well that's just...what's the female version for emasculating? Defeminating? Unfeminating?

Defeminising! That's it.

I can just as well tear all the sleeves off my t-shirts, wear my hair in a buzz cut and tattoo _I love to truck_ on my bicep.

This sucks.

xoxo

After a long shower and a good lunch, where Esme taught me to make vegetarian lasagne, I make my way outside to get some sun and catch up on my reading.

It's Saturday, which means the patients who have been here for two weeks are allowed family visits, which leaves the rest of us free to do whatever we want.

I'm still hurting from this morning's physical activities as I carefully lower myself onto one of the benches in the garden.

"Fucking Lauren," I grumble as my muscles pinch and strain. I have no idea why winning this morning was so important to her, and of course, she refuses to tell me.

I raise the book I brought with me and continue where I last left off in New York. I feel a tinge of homesickness but shake it off deliberately. It's no use wondering what my friends are doing right now, what's happening in the 'real world' that I'm missing out on. For the first time in a very long time, I actually miss Jasper's moodiness. I would give just about anything for a sip of his tea and meaningless banter. I can't wait to speak to him. A week is too long and I need his not so subtle encouragement. I need my friend.

Instead of dwelling, I read. I've only been into it for ten minutes, and I can already feel myself blushing. I flip the cover to check the title of the book one more time.

_Fifty Shades of Grey._

Everyone who's anyone in Hollywood is reading this right now. And I can understand why. It's raunchy...very, very raunchy. I sigh and read further, feeling myself squirm as my eyes drift over words I never thought I'd read in black and white print.

Holy shit...

"I've read that one too." My eyes snap up to find a smirking Mike.

"Oh..." I clear my throat uncomfortably and lower the piece of erotic fiction to my lap. I'm almost afraid the male character in the book will stick his tongue out and lick my thigh, he's described so vividly, so I drop the book to my side and leave it on the bench...just in case.

Mike takes it as an invitation to take a seat. I smile at him awkwardly and allow my eyes to drift over the garden. There are a couple of patients hanging around aimlessly, probably unsure of what to do with themselves. We've been groomed to follow the precise instructions of Volturi at all times, so the free time without any direction almost feels like a punishment instead of a reward.

"Congratulations on winning today," Mike speaks, pulling my attention back to the pubescent boy beside me. "You were something else."

"Thanks." I give him a small smile and watch his hands twist nervously in his lap.

"Aren't you a bit too young to have read something like this?" I point to the book lying between us.

"I'm nineteen," he defends proudly.

"Dude." I laugh. "I'm twenty-six and this has me blushing."

He shrugs. "It's just sex."

"It's never just sex," I reply softly, giving him another shove.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," he admits shyly, keeping his eyes diverted from mine.

"You will." I nod decisively. "Someday, you will."

He shrugs again.

We're silent for long moments, and surprisingly, it's not uncomfortable at all. I think I may have found a friend in this insecure boy.

"So," I try to make conversation. "How're your sessions with Marcus going. I remember you saying that he's teaching you how to approach woman."

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" He offers me a wide grin.

"But I'm like a man, right?" I say teasingly, swallowing down my earlier agitation.

"Are you kidding?" He barks out an incredulous laugh, causing me to start slightly. "You are the furthest thing from a man."

"I—"

"You're the prettiest girl I know," he interrupts and then turns beet red, dropping his eyes back to his lap. "You must notice the way the guys around here watch you."

"Eh..."

"Like Edward Cullen," he continues.

My pulse quickens at the mention of his name.

"I strongly doubt that," I reply as steadily as possible.

"He looks at you like you're something to eat."

I snort. "Hardly." He probably wants to strangle me.

"I don't like it," he mumbles.

"I'm sure you're mistaken." I shrug it off.

Edward's 'interest' in me hasn't gotten me any further than I was almost a week ago. I still don't know jack shit about him, and by the looks of things, that's not going to change soon.

"Do you know what he's in for?" I try to sound casual, uncaring.

"Nah." He shrugs.

Dammit.

"He keeps to himself."

"I've noticed," I grumble.

And we're silent again.

"What do women want, Bella?" Mike's question catches me off guard, and I find myself sputtering and fumbling for words.

"Do they want that?" he indicates to the book.

_Well..._

"That's fantasy, Mike," I answer instead, shifting uncomfortably. "It's not for everyone. In reality, we're really simple to figure out."

"I thought women are complicated."

"No more than men." I shrug.

"Explain, please," he pleads, and my heart once again aches for this boy. He seems so desperately lost and confused. I remember a time straight after college when I wasn't any different than he is right now—accept for the addiction part. Luckily, I was never truly exposed to any of that shit.

"Well," I sigh, squinting my eyes as I try to figure out exactly what it is that most women want. "We want someone that makes us laugh."

He nods.

"We want to feel safe."

"Okay."

"Not only physically, but emotionally, you know?" I try to explain. "A woman wants to know that her heart is safe with a man, that he chooses her above anyone else."

He nods and waves for me to continue.

"For me, the most important thing is to feel desired."

"Desired?" He frowns in confusion.

"Yes. I want to feel like the most beautiful, cherished thing in his world," I murmur dreamily. "In a room full of gorgeous woman, I want him to have only eyes for me."

I allow Mike to silently contemplate my words for a second before I continue.

"There's hardly anything a woman wouldn't do for a man that makes her feel wanted."

Mike blushes slightly and nibbles nervously on his bottom lip.

"Oh." I clap excitedly which makes his eyes snap back to mine. "And a man must smell good."

An unwanted image of Edward pops into my mind. That boy smells better than Esme's baking.

"And what is it that you don't like?"

"That's a matter of personal preference." I shrug. "But I can tell you that I don't like selfishness, or someone that's unkind, and most of all, a guy that's constantly touching his own dick."

Mike's eyes grow twice in size as his ears burn bright red.

"Like masturbating?" he practically squeals.

"No!" I laugh loudly, shaking my head wildly, feeling my own cheeks burn. "Not that!"

He smiles sheepishly and definitely a bit relieved. Poor thing. To tell a man to stop masturbating would be like asking them to stop breathing. Besides, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, and I'm definitely in no hurry to stop my own occasional...uh...self-exploration.

"I mean like all you kids seem to do nowadays," I quickly amend.

"What do you mean?"

I sigh and stand up from the bench walking away from him a few paces before turning back around.

I drop my one shoulder and lift my hand to my nose to sniff obnoxiously. Then I strut, like only a gangsta can, over exaggerating my sway, towards him. I drop my hand to my crotch and grab at it like I've seen a million men do in music videos and MTV awards ceremonies, before throwing my foot onto the bench beside Mike to grumble in my best male impression.

"'Sup, Shorty?"

We stare at each other for a beat, my lips pouted to remain in character and Mike's expression completely blank, before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

He doubles over, grabbing at his sides as his laughter becomes wheezy and desperate. I watch his bent head, feeling my lips pull into an amused smirk. I move to lower my leg and then—

No, no, no!

Edward has his lips pursed together, his eyebrows cocked into his hairline and his eyes focused on my hand still cupping between my legs. He raises his gaze to mine for only a second, amusement clear in his expression before he casually strolls by.

I gape after him, unconsciously enjoying his lazy strut, my hand still planted over my crotch and my cheeks, fifty shades of red.

xoxo

"This is what all that hassle was about?" I am not happy. I am not happy at all.

"You have no idea how important this is." Lauren shrugs casually, making herself extra comfortable on the sofa.

"I practically sprained every muscle in my body, have blisters on my hands from that damn wooden puzzle piece, and my sneakers will never be the same again after I dragged them through muddy water. And for what? A damn movie?" I'm seething, practically growling into her ear.

"I've been here for five weeks, Bella." Lauren sighs, turning slightly to face me. "Five weeks, and every Saturday I have to watch some testosterone driven piece of garbage because the men always win. Just once, I would like to watch something I can stomach."

"You're leaving in a week," I point out in exasperation. "You can watch as many chick flicks you want in seven days' time, without having to cause anyone any physical pain."

Apparently, the winners of the obstacle course get to choose the Saturday-night movie and also get to sit on the couch right in front of the big screen. Big-fucking-whoop!

If I had known this was the reason she wanted to win, I would have had her do all the hard work. She played me. I've been had. I've been duped. By a pink-wearing, nail-breaking little hussy. Oh, and let's not forget to mention that she chose the movie all by herself, not even asking my opinion on what I actually like.

"If you're making us watch _Legally Blond_ or _The Princess Diaries_, I'm going to replace your facial wash with dishwashing liquid," I threaten, watching her eyes fill with dread.

"You wouldn't," she sneers.

"Watch me." We're practically nose-to-nose as our eyes squint at each other in challenge.

"It's not a chick flick," she concedes, pulling back and crossing her arms over her chest. "Just relax."

I huff and feel myself pout. I haven't pouted since middle school. I mirror her position, arms folded firmly over my chest and wait for the movie to start.

The room is filling up with patients; some already dressed in the pyjamas and robes, all settling down for our weekly movie night. Edward is also here. I saw him walking in just after me. He's sitting on the other side of the room, within my peripheral vision, legs spread and stretched in front of him, hands folded behind his head. He's so fucking hot it hurts. But he thinks I'm on Ellen's team, and I think he's a douche, so it really doesn't matter that his lap looks good enough to crawl on to.

The lights are dimmed, and then, the movie starts.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I gasp in surprise as the opening reel of _SAW III_ starts.

Lauren snuggles into the arm of the chair, folding her legs beneath her as if we're about to watch something heart-warming and fuzzy.

I gape at her, then the screen, and then back at her.

A few annoyed grumbles can be heard throughout the room as some patients stand to walk out. I can't say I blame them. _SAW_ is hardly anyone's cup of tea. At the rate the room is clearing out, it looks like Lauren might have the movie all to herself, and I won't be surprised if that was exactly her intention.

"Nice choice," I hear a mumble behind me. I turn my head just in time to see Edward walking past, hoody pulled over his head, hands shoved into his pockets.

"I didn't choose it," I defend lamely, but I know there's no way he can hear me at this distance.

I sigh, punch Lauren in the hip and stand to walk out, only faintly hearing her bitching behind me.

I catch a glimpse of Edward's hoody right before he makes a turn to the right.

Why would he go back to the dining room? Everything down there is already closed.

I shuffle faster in order to catch up, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Oh baby." I hear a faint moaning to my right where the telephone booths are. I squint into the darkness but can hardly make out anything.

"Faster." I freeze for only a second, until I realize that it's our resident fuck buddies going at it again.

"Rosalie," Emmett grunts, and that's my cue to get the hell out of there.

I jog forward just in time to see a storage room door close down the hallway.

"What the..." I whisper, making my way towards it.

I slowly push down on the handle and slip into the dark room, turning to close the door softly behind me. I spin around, unable to see my hand in front of my face when I'm shoved back against the door.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

From his voice alone, I can tell it's Edward, but I haven't heard him sound so angry before and for a fleeting moment I'm scared shitless. Only for a fleeting moment, and then I'm pissed that he has me pinned to the door so aggressively.

"What are _you _doing here?" I throw back once I find my voice.

"I can't believe you're so careless." He ignores my question with a growl.

"Hey!" I try to shove his hands off my shoulders, but his grip on me is like a vice, and soon the only emotion I'm feeling is burning anger. "Get your hands off me."

He breathes heavily in the vicinity of my face and finally releases me with a huff.

"You have no idea what you've done." He still sounds pissed. Good, that makes two of us.

I roll my shoulders to release the ache his hands caused and whimper at the strain in them.

"Fuck, did I hurt you?" He has the decency to sound contrite which settles my resentment slightly.

I shake my head slowly, unsure of whether he can actually see the movement.

"No," I concede with a sigh. "I'm a little stiff from this morning."

I think I hear him chuckle.

"No one followed me," I offer an olive branch.

"There are cameras everywhere." He sounds annoyed. "It's only a matter of time before Caius or Felix comes snooping around."

"Shit. Sorry," I apologize sheepishly. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I'm able to make out his outline, standing only a few feet away from me.

He steps closer and my eyes narrow suspiciously.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a mildly apprehensive voice.

"Spread your legs," he demands, placing his hands on either side of my head, boxing me in.

"W-what?" my voice squeaks, and I roll my eyes at myself. I'm such a girl.

"Just do it," he sighs in exasperation.

I do as I'm told, because the demand in his voice is really...kinda...hot.

I should probably lay off the erotica.

"You have to lean your full weight against the door, okay?" he commands softly, his breath leaving his lips over my hairline. I feel him placing his thigh between my parted legs, touching, but not quite.

"Okay." I find myself agreeing, trying hard to not succumb to the intense desire to sniff him. He smells so damn good, like laundry detergent and deep, dark secrets.

Seriously. No. More. Erotica.

"Um...what are we doing?" I ask after a moment, keeping my head down to hide the fluster I'm sure is evident.

"They're going to try to open the door, and if they succeed, we're both fucked." I convince myself that the shiver that runs through me is because of the cold draft in the room instead of the husky whisper in his voice.

"Oh," I mumble dumbly and attempt to ignore the thrill his close proximity is causing.

We remain silent, ears perking for any movement on the other side of the door.

If he's worried that the cameras may have spotted me coming in here, how in hell did he manage to duck and dive them?

"Hey! How did you get in here unnoticed?" I whisper-shout. I can smell a story here and I want in on it.

"Shhh..." He shushes me impatiently, and I finally raise my head to give him a petulant glare.

His gaze drops to mine just as we hear footsteps outside the door.

"Who's in there?"

I jump at the sudden command, my eyes stretching in fear. The lines around Edward's eyes crinkle slightly, and I'm curious to know exactly what he finds funny about this whole situation. Getting caught and reprimanded is anything but amusing.

He mouths something to me, but I'm unable to make it out in the dark. I scrunch my nose and shrug, and I think he rolls his eyes. He drops his head slightly, resting his nose in my hair and his mouth at my ear.

"Felix," he whispers so softly I can literally feel every nerve in my body sigh.

I nod minutely, indicating that I heard him, but he doesn't pull back.

Why isn't he pulling back?

My heart rate accelerates. My ears fill with the whooshing of blood. My breathing becomes short.

"Push, Bella," he murmurs. My eyes practically roll into the back of my head, and I push back against the door with all my might just as Felix twists the handle and attempts to shove the door open.

I can feel Edward's stance widen as he pushes against the door, putting all his weight behind his arms as his thigh grazes me right _there_. The lightning bolt that snaps through my body is unexpected and unwanted—completely unprovoked and definitely annoying.

I'm tossing that book as soon as I get to my room.

"Yes," he encourages softly, and fuck, I'm aroused. Scared shitless of getting caught and just so...fucking...aroused.

This is _not _good. This is _so not_ good.

He shifts his weight slightly and his thigh presses more firmly against the juncture between my legs.

This is good. This is soooo fucking good.

There's another determined shove against the door as Felix rattles the handle. I almost shriek in fear, bending my knees further to get a firmer grip and push back harder at the same time Edward fiercely presses forward.

I groan softly at the pressure between my things and raise my hands to grab hold of Edward's waist. The soft wool of his hoody scrunches between my fists as an internal war irrupts—goading me to pull him closer—persuading me to push him away.

My fingers dig into his sides, and I feel him flinch.

"Sorry," I apologize in a whisper, although I'm really not.

We're frozen like this in complete silence, apart from our panting from the physical strain and the fear of getting caught. Okay, I may be panting because the idea of getting off on Edward's leg is becoming something I'm seriously considering.

Jeez...

And then we wait...and wait...

"I think he's gone," Edward whispers after what feels like forever, pulling away slowly as I drop my stiff hands from his waist, planting my palms firmly against the door behind me. His legs and arms remain where they are, just in case Felix makes another appearance, I suppose.

I nod, watching him lower his head and blow out a sigh of relief. I assume he notices my interesting position on his thigh because his head almost immediately pulls back, his gaze capturing mine in surprise.

There's confusion in his eyes as they stay fixed on mine. The air around turns inexplicably thicker and breathing becomes almost impossible.

"I'm not a lesbian." And I obviously don't have a filter.

He watches me silently, his brow furrowing minutely.

"I know."

And like it's the most natural thing in the world, like it's as easy as taking a breath, we both roll our hips forward. Just once.

And, oh... He's hard.

I actually hear him groan, and shit if it doesn't make me whimper. Only slightly. Only ever so softly.

This is seriously fucked up.

We stare silently, curiously at each other. The moment is almost too intimate. We're too close to each other for complete strangers. Yet, I'm still contemplating going in for another hump, but he seems to be slightly annoyed, so I manage to hold myself back.

"It's time for you to leave." His voice is as calm as they get, and it sounds like his commenting on the weather.

"Yeah." My voice on the other hand sounds unsure and dejected, and that just upsets me more.

He pulls back completely, leaving me hunched against the door by myself, looking like I'm riding an invisible motorbike. I straighten my limbs out, clear my throat awkwardly, and keep my eyes from meeting his.

"Lauren hates when I'm still up when she's trying to sleep," I ramble, feeling my cheeks glow with embarrassment. All I can think about is his hardness against my leg. He can pretend all he wants, but he was definitely turned on. I know a boner when I feel one, dammit.

He grumbles something uncommitted, which only flusters me more.

"She can get really annoying." And the word vomit keeps going. "She gets all up in my face about it." I look up to see him watching my awkward mumblings with mild amusement. "I hate it when she comes all up in my face."

I can practically hear the soundtrack to my life screeching to a halt.

"That's not what I meant," I gasp. "I've never seen Lauren come!" I'm digging a hole deep enough to bury me and my big ass sexual frustration.

I throw my hands over my face, shielding myself in mortification.

"That's not what I meant either," I complain behind my fingers, feeling my shoulders sag in defeat. "I should go," I mumble and turn to avoid his gaze, grabbing for the door handle.

"Wait!" He places a firm grasp on my hand, making me jump in surprise.

I'm waiting for him with bated breath, expecting him to admit that there's some seriously bothersome chemistry here.

"Cameras, remember?" The exasperation is clear in his voice.

"Oh yeah," I sigh in relief. There really is no cure for what I've got. "Sorry."

I step to the side, keeping my eyes lowered and allow him to pull the door open only an inch. He waits for what feels like forever and then moves back, waving a hand for me to leave.

"Now?"

"Yes." He nods curtly, impatiently sweeping his hand again.

I quickly step into the hall and turn to see if he follows. He doesn't.

"Aren't you coming?" I ask awkwardly, still completely humiliated.

"I might." He shrugs, and my eyes follow the movement of his free hand as he lowers it to palm the bulge in his pants.

I gasp in shock, and all the theories I shared with Mike this afternoon about men touching their dicks being annoying, flies out the window.

A smirk finally tugs at his lips as he slowly starts to close the door. "But not in your face."

And then, he winks.

xoxo

* * *

**And? What do you think? Am I boring you yet? lol**

**I'm writing a futuretake of Terms and Conditions Apply. I will be donating it to**_ Fandom 4 The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society_**. If you would like to receive a copy, go here****—**

** fandom4lls dot blogspot dot com**

** for more information.**

**With Love...**

**Your Mistress**

**xoxo**


	7. Irritability

**Hello there! Guess whose back! Lol**

**Let me start by profusely apologizing for making you all wait months for an update. Instead of breaking into a sad song and dance regarding the reasons why it took me so long, let's just say that it won't happen again and leave it at that. ;)**

**Once again, thank you to my betas, adt216 and Painjane.**

**Thank you to my biggest cheerleader, JustPeachy00, who I love and adore endlessly.**

**Also, thank you to everyone that voted for me at the Fandom Choice Awards. I came third in the best up and coming author category. I'm humbled and extremely appreciative of your love and support.**

**And to all of you that decided to come back and give this fic another chance, thank you for not giving up on me. You might want to reread the previous chapter/s so we're all on the same page again.**

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**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.**

* * *

**Summary:**** Bella Swan is a beautiful, spunky gossip columnist. Edward Cullen is an arrogant, hot New York socialite. When Edward is admitted into rehab, Bella will stop at nothing to get her story. On her journey to get the scoop, she will reveal things about Edward that makes her question her own intentions, as more than the truth gets uncovered.**

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**Chapter 5**

**Irritability **

The early morning silence is pierced by the gloomy cry of a lone wolf.

...

...

...

"Why does he sound like Alan from _The Hangover_?" I mumble to Mike as we raptly stare after the gurney being pushed past us. Practically the entire patient population has come out to see what the ruckus is about.

"She's my mate!" the guy shouts as men dressed in hospital whites attempt to keep him from pulling against his restraints. Of course, his olive skinned hand is pointing straight at me as red road maps surround his dilated pupils.

I raise my hand slowly to my chest in a 'Moi?' gesture.

I've never been called anyone's mate before. Not in the animalistic or Australian sense of the word.

"Wait until the rest of my wolf pack gets here!" The threat is delivered menacingly as a male nurse attempts to wrestle the crazy dude's shoulders back to the bed. They push through the swinging doors as a last heart-wrenching howl fills the now silent reception area.

I tilt my head in question to Mike. Over the last couple of days, since our heart to heart in the gardens, he has become my buddy, my_ compadre_, my wingman if you will. Mike is cool.

"Heroin." He shrugs, looking as bored as the rest of the patients while everyone slowly disperses to the cafeteria for breakfast. "Sometimes they hallucinate."

Ah, just another day in rehab.

It's strange how quick you conform. I'm a New Yorker. We do everything fast there—especially walking. In here, nothing's done at a rushed pace. You can hear the lazy slide of slippers barely lifting from tile as everyone saunters along.

Everyone apart from Edward, that is.

My eyes don't miss the fact that he stayed behind, casually leaning against the reception desk, softly talking to Heidi—or Bob— as I affectionately call her. A pang of jealously stabs through me as his lips curls into a slow smile. I crane my neck to see her reaction before the doors slide closed behind me, but all I see is her head tilting slightly to the side, and Edward's eyes boring hotly into hers.

Ever since our little meeting in the storage room a couple of nights ago, Edward has made it quite obvious that he's avoiding me. He's been oblivious to my presence, even more so than before.

So, seeing him converse and actually smile at an overly processed bimbo, without any encouragement from her—that I could see—serves a serious blow to my ego.

What a schmuck I am.

"So, you're his mate?" I can hear the smile in Mike's voice, distracting me from my homicidal thoughts.

"Sounds like it." I shrug.

"Never been anyone's mate before," he muses, voicing my earlier thoughts. "Could be if I move Down Under."

I chuckle lightly. I love this kid.

Xoxo

"We're going to play Twenty Questions today," Jane interrupts our soft chatter as she enters the room with a hop in her step. Her smile is bright, and her posture energized. She either got some last night, in which case I'm extremely jealous, or she simply thrives on the awkward situations her prodding and probing cause.

Given her pixie ears, sharp little nose and small frame, I think it's the latter. There's something disturbingly sinister about petite girls.

She rubs her hands together like an animated villain and squints into the group, before reaching into her pants pocket and retrieving a hacky sack.

"When you have the ball, you get to ask one question and throw it to whomever you want to answer it. If the ball is thrown at you, you answer the question asked and then ask a new one, throwing it once again at whomever you wish to answer," she explains with much enthusiasm.

We all groan simultaneously, which is simply ignored.

"Don't be too personal with your questions," she continues matter-of-factly.

"Who decides what's too personal?" Emmett pipes in. My eyes move towards him, and naturally, as they always do, towards the man slouching beside him.

He's brooding. He's bored. He's ignoring me.

So nothing new then.

He's also disturbingly hot, and just like every day after our encounter in the storage room, I'm bombarded by images of his leg pressed between mine, of the foresty smell of his hoody and that look he gave me before rubbing his crotch.

Holy crap... That look.

And then, like an angsty teenage drama, a new image joins the party. One of him smiling at Heidi, leaning over her desk and talking softly to her.

That pretty much douses my sporadic flight of fancy with a good shot of reality.

He's into Bob.

Which is actually a good thing. I don't need my hormones wreaking havoc on my logic. If I'm going to remain professional, it's not going to happen by sulking over losing the fleeting interest of someone I don't actually want.

And I definitely don't want Edward Cullen.

"I'll be the judge of that," Jane replies briskly, which pulls my attention away from my project and back to the matter at hand. "I'll interject, but if the recipient is fine with answering, that's their choice."

"How is Twenty Questions going to help us?"

It's a good question, raised by a girl in the group to whom I have yet to be introduced.

"Well," Jane replies steadily, "apart from the fact that you get to know a little more about the people you're spending time with, I'm hoping that you might see how much you could have in common with a complete stranger, with someone from a different social standing." Her explanation seems reasonable enough. "A lot of our social isolation and need to fill the gaping hole with substances can be based on the fact that we feel alone. That no one will understand. Maybe this exercise will disprove that notion."

"Edward is staring at you again," Mike whispers in my ear, as I contemplate the validity of Jane's statement.

My gaze shoots in his direction, and lo and behold, he is.

Staring.

Right at me.

On second glance though, it would appear as if he's staring right _through _me.

He's gaze seems faraway, as if he's contemplating something very serious, or quite possibly nothing at all. I'm betting on the 'nothing at all' option. I mean, honestly, how many pressing issues can a rich, spoilt man-boy have?

I frown deeply at him, which doesn't even make him blink; only confirming that although his eyes are on me, they aren't seeing me at all.

I turn my head to Mike and shrug nonchalantly. "Looks like he's daydreaming."

"Maybe he's thinking about being your mate, too." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Auuuuooooo," I howl so only Mike can hear, causing his cheeks to flame and his chest to rumble in a low chuckle.

Giving him an exaggerated smirk, I turn my attention back to our ringleader.

"I'll start." She turns slowly from one side of the group, to the next, searching for her first victim.

"What's your favourite colour?" And then she throws the hacky sack to Billy.

Billy is the old guy I met on my first day here—the one who scolded me for holding up the lunch line after dropping a slab of tofu on my plate.

I later found out that he lost his wife and kids in a car accident years ago, and since then, he's been drowning his sorrows and depleting his fortune with liquor.

Billy is my constant reminder that there are people here with real problems.

Emmett boos Jane's lame question, earning a few laughs.

"Black," Billy answers flatly, which I find ironic because the colour happens to be his surname, and also sad, because it clearly reflects his mood.

"Very good." Jane nods with a sympathetic smile. I'm guessing we're on the same page. "Now you get to ask."

Billy listlessly tosses the sack to a very pale, very thin girl beside him. Her bony hands clumsily fumble with the ball as she nervously bites her lip and raises her head to await his question.

I think she used to be pretty at some point. It's hard to tell with the red scratches running along her neck and cheeks. Apparently, picking at or scratching skin is a nasty little effect of using crack or meth. She's also severely underweight, her peppercorn eyes hollow, and her brown hair thinning.

I've learned quite a bit in my week in rehab. Mostly from Mike, but Lauren has proved to be quite helpful too, even if it feels like pulling teeth coaxing answers out of her. It's not purely out of curiosity—the information is helping me narrow down the reasons Edward is here. For example: from his physical appearance alone, I know he's not suffering from the same affliction the girl beside Billy is.

"Favourite food?" Billy grumbles, and I have to contain my gasp as the room falls awkwardly quiet.

Seriously? It looks like she hasn't had a proper meal in months.

"Pizza," she answers in a small voice.

My heart aches for her.

She clears her throat and tosses the ball to Emmett.

"Do you have any piercings?" I chuckle at her strange question and the obvious surprise on Emmett's face.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" His surprise morphs into cocky confidence. I roll my eyes and notice Rosalie doing the same. Our little wisp on the other hand, blushes like a new bride.

"That's a question, Emmett. Not an answer," Jane corrects him playfully.

He shrugs with an even wider grin. "I do, but not in a place you can see with my clothes on."

I think if it were possible, the girl would dig a hole and climb right into it. The embellished wink accompanying Emmett's confession confirms that he is not referring to something as innocent as nipple piercings.

TMI, buddy.

Emmett throws the hacky sack to Rosalie and asks her a lewd question about her favourite sexual position. Jane objects, but Rosalie shrugs and answers him blandly. I choose not to dwell on the intricate position she attempted to describe. I have a picture brain, and imagining a naked Rosalie twisted like a soft pretzel is enough to cause a nosebleed.

The ball is then thrown to Mike, asking him about his favourite band, and surprisingly for such a young kid, the answer is Led Zeppelin.

I'm impressed.

Mike turns to me and graces me with a big smile before gently placing the little ball in my hand. I return his grin with an encouraging nod.

"Favourite song of all time?"

I grin even wider. Easy.

"Yellow Ledbetter."

"Pearl Jam?"

"Yup."

"Aw, man," Emmett chimes in. "Best guitar intro ever. Good choice, Bella Dwyer."

I shrug and flick my eyes in Edward's direction. He's eyeing me warily. The poor sod knows I'm coming for him. I keep my gaze on his, arching a knowing brow as he swallows notably. I like this—making him sweat a bit. Insert evil laugh.

I toss the ball to him, which he catches one handed with catlike grace, stopping it from flying over his head and into the back of the room. Okay, so I don't have the best aim, which I begrudgingly haee to admit, reduces my current badass 'tude just a notch.

I bet he's thinking I'm going to expose his hide-out, but I have bigger fish to fry than splitting on a dude's spank fort.

"So, Edward," I start slowly, watching his Adams apple bob. I let the silence drag on for a couple more beats.

"Why are you in rehab?"

The room fills with soft murmurs as Edward and I face off. His expression shifts from weary to surprised to faintly amused.

"You don't have to answer that, Edward." I could punch Jane in the face, although I expected she would intervene. It was worth a shot, though.

Edward's reply to Jane is a shrug, which makes me hopeful that he might actually answer my question. Lord knows I need a breakthrough.

"I'm here to rehabilitate, Bella." If you could bottle snootiness, his answering tone would be the best place to ladle that shit.

"That's not a real answer," I complain.

"Your question was vague." He leers, and the victorious glint in his eyes is almost enough to make me stick my tongue out at him.

But I'm a grown ass woman and won't adhere to such childish acts, so I cross my arms over my chest and huff instead.

Motherfucker.

I should have known better. I'm a journalist, for fuck sakes. It's my job to ask the right questions.

I turn facing forward, stewing in my loss and embarrassment when a soft object hits my temple. I yelp in surprise and twist to find Mike bending down to retrieve the hacky sack from the floor.

"What the..."

"Why do you want to know what I'm in for?" To say that I'm surprised at the fact that Edward chose to redirect a question back to me is a gross understatement.

"Is that allowed?" I grumble, rubbing my hand over my injured temple. It doesn't hurt. It's just the sting of the surprise making me reach for it.

"I don't see why not." Jane shrugs and makes a gesture for me to continue.

"I'm just curious," I turn and answer the smug bastard.

"Interesting thing to be curious about," he fires back without missing a beat.

Scared that I might give too much away and blow my cover, I pluck a page from Edward's book...and merely shrug.

Xoxo

It's late when I fall down on my bed, staring straight at the ceiling and ignoring the grinding sound of Lauren's nail file hacking away at her acrylic talons.

Today was exhausting. Not only was I outplayed by Mr. Cullen in the afternoon Q&A session, but my ear is still hot from the verbal scolding I just received from Jasper. As he reminded me, I've been in here a week now and still haven't made any progress.

I'm officially a grade-A loser.

I just don't know how to crack that man. He's aloof and brooding and shut tighter than Barbie's vagina.

I've done the 'Hey, let's be friends thing.' I've done the frilly dress and high heels, which probably would have been more successful if I hadn't fallen over my own feet and flashed my embarrassing panties. I've resorted to rubbing myself on his leg, which in all honesty, wasn't part of the plan, but seemed to have gotten things moving at least. Until he withdrew completely.

Now I'm stuck with the notion that my boss is getting aggravatingly impatient, my target has turned a possible hard-on for me into googly eyes for the receptionist, and worst of all, my two best friends are insisting on making a visit.

I pleaded with Jasper to explain to them that this is work and it wouldn't be appropriate, but apparently they insist.

Yay, me.

It's not that I don't want to see them. I miss them terribly. If I'm being completely honest, my trepidation stems from my inability to land this story. Tanya and Kate know me as confident—the girl that gets what she wants no matter the price. I haven't achieved jack shit in my time here, and I'm not exactly eager to admit that, or for them to see me like..._this_. Flailing and desperate.

"What's eating at you?"

I would have been pleasantly surprised at Lauren's concern, if her question didn't sound like an accusation.

"Nothing," I grunt, closing my eyes and sighing heavily.

"Doesn't look like nothing." I think the snide tone of her disbelief just killed a fairy somewhere.

"Oh, yeah?" Struggling to keep the sarcasm from my voice, I turn to my side and offer her a contrived smile. "And what does it look like, oh, great oracle."

She arches an eyebrow without directing her gaze at me. Her sparkly pink lips form a pout as she lightly blows at her nails.

"Looks like you're pissed, actually."

"Mhh..." I murmur half-heartedly and return to my previous position, crossing my legs at the ankles and folding my hands over my stomach. Perfect position for a burial—which I'm most likely heading to career wise.

"I heard about your interesting question in session today."

"Who told?"

"I know someone in your group." When I don't respond, she continues on a sigh. "You know, I'm pretty attuned to your moods."

I laugh for the first time in hours.

"Okay." There's no hiding my scepticism. She's so full of it.

"You can learn a lot about someone by just watching them," she continues, as if I haven't spoken. A classic Lauren move.

"Sure." I have no idea where she's heading with this. Is she admitting to being a creepy stalker? If that's the case, it's going to take more than the possibility of death by nail-file to make me lose any sleep.

"People's actions, and comings and goings can give away a lot."

I frown at the ceiling and eventually turn my head to watch her.

She regards me from the corner of her eye, before turning her attention back to her claws.

Staring through her, much like Edward did in session earlier today, her words echo in my head. What is she hinting to?

And then it hits me.

I need to become a creepy stalker.

It's the only way.

I don't have time to ponder the possibility that Lauren is onto me. The revelation has me jumping from my bed, making Lauren startle and drag a line of purple nail polish over her knuckle.

"Lauren," I exclaim and try to ignore her murderous glare. "You're an angel."

"You're deluded."

"I love you." I laugh, skipping towards the door.

"The feeling is not mutual," she deadpans.

"Aw." I turn and flash a cutesy smile. "I know you care."

"No I don't," she huffs. "Go away."

"Gladly."

And I know exactly where I'm going.

Xoxo

I make my way down the steps, towards the corridor I'm looking for. It's after 10 PM, and I know we're not supposed to be outside our rooms now.

I'm praying that the on-duty security guard is either asleep or texting his girlfriend instead of watching the monitors.

Moving as quietly as I possibly can, I duck into the corridor leading to the reception area and the nurse's office.

I'm just about to veer left when a hand touches my shoulder.

"Shit," I squeal and spin around.

"Where do you think you're going?" Felix asks with a frown digging deeply between his brows.

I attempt to speak, but my throat's too dry so I make a choking sound instead.

"Headache," I groan for effect and point to my temple.

"The nurse's office is straight ahead." He indicates over my shoulder.

"Okay, thanks." I smile tightly and attempt to turn out of his firm grip. I twist my head back and drop my eyes to his hand on my shoulder pointedly in a silent request for him to let me go already.

"There was some commotion a couple of nights ago." He drops his hand but stills me with his leading question. "I thought I saw someone going into the storage room down there." He waves a hand at the exact place I was heading to before he caught me. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

I think, regardless of my answer, he already believes I'm guilty. He's right of course, but there's no way I'm admitting it.

"'Fraid not, sorry." My throat couldn't be any tighter if he circled his hands around it and squeezed.

He considers me for a contemplative second, the beady little pupils of his eyes scanning mine, looking for a crack in my armour.

He finds none as I stare back with steely resolve.

"Alright then." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "To the nurse and then back to your room."

"Of course." I nod, and this time when I turn to leave, he doesn't stop me.

I spin the pudgy nurse on duty the same lie about having a headache. She drops exactly one Tylenol in my hand—big fucking whoop—and has me fill in a plethora of forms.

"To be sure you don't overindulge," she informs me, and then, in a militaristic voice demands that I drink the pill in her presence. To ensure I don't give it to an unauthorized individual, of course.

When I make my way out of her tiny dispensary, the hallway is once again quiet. I walk slowly with my head bent and just before I can talk myself out of it, I turn into the forbidden corridor and stealthily make my way towards the storage room.

I'm almost there when a hand grabs my elbow and yanks me to the right, nearly lifting me off the ground. I'm about to shout bloody murder, when an arm snakes around my waist and pulls me into a hard chest. His other hand clamps over my mouth before a whimper can escape my lips.

My heart is beating wildly in my chest as panic starts to set in.

"Don't make a sound." The relief I feel when I hear the all too familiar voice grumbling in my ear, makes my knees buckle.

He tightens his grip around my waist to prevent me from falling to my knees.

"I'm letting you go now." His voice has taken on a slightly less threatening quality. "Are you okay to stand?"

I nod vigorously, desperate to have my mouth freed.

Gently, I feel his hand over my mouth slip away, and then his arm around my waist follows. I turn slowly and take a step back, tilting my head back to get a good look at him.

The cape of his hoody pulled over his head really doesn't hide that fact that he's freaking gorgeous. It's his lips, I decide. He has a moist, red ducky mouth, and all I can think about when we're standing this close is sucking on it.

"Stop gaping and start talking." Why does he have to ruin everything?

"I'm not following you," I release on an exasperated grunt.

His humourless chuckle is accompanied by a sceptical arch of his brows.

"I know what it looks like," I huff. "I was actually heading to your little sanctuary when you pulled me into..." I trail off, taking a second to scope out my environment. "Before you yanked me into the phone booth...section...thingy." I wave my arms at our surroundings.

"Why were you heading there?" He still looks unconvinced, but a fraction of the anger has seeped from his stiff posture.

"I needed to speak to you. I was taking a chance."

He doesn't respond, obviously waiting for me to elaborate.

"I want to know how the cameras work." I really, really do, but I'm not telling him why, because the why to that question involves my new stalking strategy, and my new stalking strategy directly involves the beautiful idiot standing in front of me.

His utter disbelief at my request is almost comical.

"And pray tell, why the ever-loving fuck would I tell you that?" The question is delivered on an incredulous laugh.

"I just want a little privacy every once in a while." My reasoning sounds lame, but what else am I going to say. "Not for the same reasons you do, of course, but still." The second that sentence leaves my mouth, I regret uttering it.

Confusion mars his features as he tilts his head to the side. The sliver of pale neck revealed by his motions looks mouth-wateringly soft. I bet he would smell best right there...right in the crook.

"I'm dying to know what my reasons are," he murmurs dryly, those ducky lips slightly pouted in curiosity.

"Um, well, you know?" I shrug.

"I really don't. Please, enlighten me." It's dark, but I can definitely hear the scoff in his voice.

"For, you know, recreational purposes." I tilt my head deliberately to his groin, and then quickly look away before my entire face explodes in mortification.

A choking noise has my gaze snapping up, only to find Edward's head thrown back, chest shaking with silent laughter. I'm sure if we didn't have to be quiet, he would be howling with laughter right now.

The view from where I'm standing is quite enticing. I've never seen him laugh before, and the pure joy of it has my mouth tilting into an involuntary smile.

He finally drops his head and settles his glassy eyes on mine. I check my grin and feign ignorance.

"You think—" he stops to catch his breath and compose himself. "You think that I go in there to masturbate?"

I decide to shrug in answer and silently start humming the star spangled banner, astutely ignoring the havoc his using that word is causing on my hormones, and diligently avoiding his eyes.

"Lady, that's what showers are for." His explanation is not helping me out one damn bit.

I swallow thickly and raise my eyes to see his still filled with laughter. It makes him look younger, even slightly vulnerable.

"Let me get this straight." There is no mistaking the mocking cadence in his voice. "You were on your way to the storage room, thinking that I use it to beat off, and you still decided to pop in?"

"I—uh." Fuck. "I honestly didn't think that far ahead."

"Seems to be a running theme with you."

"I resent that."

"Who cares?"

This is not turning out how I planned.

I sigh heavily and push my hands through my hair in frustration.

"Please, Edward," I practically beg.

He watches me for long, silent moments. It's clear that the cogs are turning in that pretty little head of his, and I'm not convinced that his response is going to be one I want to hear.

"What do I get in return?" Ah, I expected that. I can barter.

"My silence." The expression on his face confirms that I have him by the short and curlies. If he helps me, I keep my silence about his little playroom. If he doesn't, I run to Marcus—which I would never do—but he doesn't know that.

"If you get caught, you don't mention me."

My relief is palpable as my shoulders slump on a heavy sigh.

"Not a word." I raise my right hand. "Scout's honour."

His reply is an unimpressed snort.

"Besides, I won't get caught."

"Not holding my breath, sweetheart." There is absolutely nothing endearing about the way he uses the endearment.

"This is a dead zone." He twirls his finger around, indicating the shadowy alcove between the corridor and the phone booths we're standing in.

"What's a 'dead zone'?" I'm practically vibrating with excitement.

"A place where none of the cameras reach." I nod to indicate that I understand. I also remember hearing Emmett and Rosalie in the throes of passion in this exact same spot the other night. They have to know the cameras too, which leads me to believe that Edward either told Emmett about it, or it's the other way around.

"There's a few others scattered throughout the building, but I'll have to show them to you 'cause their timing is tricky."

"Will you show me now?"

"No."

Okay then.

"The sleeping quarters and the storage room are the only places without cameras."

"Got it. Camera free zones." Edward regards me blankly for a moment before droning on. I'm such a freaking douche nozzle around this guy.

"The rest of the building has rolling eye cameras—"

"What's that?" I interrupt him.

"Come here." He grabs my sleeve and pulls me, none too gently, to what I assume is the boundary line of the shadows. He drops my sleeve and raises a hand to point to a camera in the far left corner of the corridor.

I see a small black ball turning from side to side inside a bigger white ball.

"The black part is called the eye. This specific cameras' eye turns from side to side."

"You could have just said that to start with," I grumble petulantly, but it's like talking to a brick wall.

"The cameras are all on timers, and whoever installed them weren't very clever about it. If you're facing north," he checks to see if I'm following, "that would be in the direction of the ocean."

I nod, thankful that he elaborated, as I had no effing clue which way north would be. What is it with men and compass directions anyway? How about explaining stuff using beacons, like the ocean in this instance, or turn left when you reach the Wal-Mart on your right.

"All the cameras on the left hand side of the corridor will rotate to their left, and all the cameras on the right will rotate to the right."

"So it's cross-eyed."

"Exactly. They also pause in this position for a few moments, blink, and then rotate again."

"Blink?"

"Yeah, it's an installation error. The blink is when you have to make your move."

He proceeds to explain the counting and the math of the whole thing, and in the end, I feel like it may have been a stretch for me to believe I could pull this off. I'm not much of a techy, and all this seems way too complicated.

"Do you understand?" His expression tells me that he knows I'm lost.

"Yeah, I got it." I shrug. "No problem."

"You're going to get caught."

"No I'm not." I attempt to sound confident, but he's right, I'm so getting caught.

"You're going to have to be shown, aren't you?" He couldn't sound less impressed even if he tried.

"Mebbe..." I grin innocently, hoping that I might charm him into offering his assistance.

"Not happening tonight."

"What? You have other pressing plans?" I mock with a snort.

"I don't know." The dry tone of his voice tells me I walked right into this one. "I might take matters into my own hands, being the sexual deviant you seem to think I am. I'd hate to thwart your already flattering image of me."

I'm floundering like a fish out of water.

"What room are you in?" His question throws me completely. Is he honestly considering coming into my room? To what? Fuck?

"Maybe I gave you the wrong impression—"

"Please stop there before you embarrass yourself," he interrupts my rejection sardonically. "I'm asking so I can come fetch you tomorrow morning and show you the cameras."

I feel myself blush. Although I appreciate that he stopped me, I don't think it really helped much in terms of saving me from embarrassment.

"Room four." I mumble.

"Do you have kitchen duty?"

"Yes, at six," I speak to my feet.

"I'll be there at five. I'll only knock once." He steps forward and presses one long finger under my chin, tilting my head back so I have no other choice but to meet his gaze.

My breath catches in my throat at his proximity, at the mere smell of him.

"Don't make me wait, Bella."

"I won't," I croak.

"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll make the remainder of your stay here a living hell."

"I won't."

"Just so you know..." He drops his hand and steps back. "I don't trust you."

"I don't exactly trust you either." I can't help but feel offended by his words, even though he is completely right to feel that way. He doesn't know that though, so his doubts are entirely unfounded and harsh in my opinion.

"Then we're on the same page."

"Absolutely."

"Perfect," he quips.

"Great." I smile tartly.

"I know I'm going to regret this," he sighs.

_Oh, Edward. You have no idea just how much._

xoxo

**Everyone still with me?**

**Happy Valentine's Day!**

**With love...**

**Your Mistress**

**xoxo**


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